Hunters
by MP - Mary Contrary
Summary: 'Trip' Tucker and T'Pol of Vulcan. Two impossibly different people, bound by tragedy and a relationship stranger than any of the dark things they hunt and kill. Bound to a legacy they share, one by blood, one by honor. And if they are strong enough to find Trip's father and take vengeance for his mother's death...perhaps they will be strong enough to find each other. (on hiatus)
1. The Cutting Point

_So after "Seleya"...I'll just leave you to guess the setting I've mangled mercilessly to fit here. - Mary_

_(Well, okay, since Rigil Kent already guessed before I even got the second chapter up...we're setting this in the universe of the "Supernatural" TV series. As in Sam and Dean Winchester "Supernatural". Mashing that right on top of ST:ENT, of course.)_

* * *

**Panama City, Florida  
****August 20, 2121**

The public bus hissed to a halt at the intersection of Marissa Lane, letting off its only passenger for that stop.

The young Vulcan that stepped down onto the street would appear no more than fifteen to any Human observer, but she'd reached adulthood well over a decade ago. Her relative apparent age…relative to Humans at least…had slowed when she'd reached adulthood, something that continued to cause some measure of difficulty in adjusting to life on Earth. And she looked quite young for her age even by Vulcan standards, which only made matters all the worse.

Any Vulcan her age would have otherwise at least appeared to be perhaps twenty years old, according to Human perceptions. That would have made things much easier for her.

Legally, in accordance with Earth standards, she was thirty-three years old, and there were a variety of things forbidden to fifteen year olds by both North American and local Florida state law that a thirty-three year old could expect to take for granted.

Such as owning and operating a powered vehicle. She certainly possessed the legal right to do so and she was even very skilled at it, but an apparent fifteen year old operating a powered vehicle without supervision of some sort attracted the attention of local traffic officers, and they tended to be hyper-critical in such instances.

So she rode the bus, because it did not require her to pull over on a regular basis to produce a driver's permit, proof of insurance and vehicle ownership and, most egregiously, suffer questions, posed by strangers in a position of authority, regarding her age. As well as the accompanying tedious exposition concerning how remarkable it was that she looked so young.

She rode the bus instead of that.

And she got off the bus on Marissa Lane, even if that meant walking the equivalent of two city blocks every day to and from Millstone Trail. And another equivalent block to reach 1411, the second house on the left at the far western side of the subdivision.

Despite that requiring a total of nearly twenty minutes a day spent walking unnecessarily both ways. It was simply, and ironically, less tedious than driving.

She arrived, the satchel on her shoulder lightly weighed down with various study materials. Mostly two personal PetPADDs and one college issued study PADD, all containing far more detailed information and resources than most of her fellow student's bothered to avail themselves of.

She took her studies quite seriously. They were one of only three things in her life that, in her opinion, _constituted _her life. Nothing else was considered especially relevant.

Her studies, her Vulcan disciplines and the Tucker family. That was her life and she was quite satisfied with that.

Judging from the presence of the large, rugged all-terrain vehicle in the driveway, both Elaine and Charles Senior were home, so she didn't pause before entering the home. She would otherwise have availed herself of the electronic passkey and security code to bypass the alarm system, as the couple were away as often as not. Much less so since the birth of Charles the Third, but nevertheless often enough.

She'd had the house to herself for the last six days, with the exception of the infant Charles, so she was relieved they had returned. Tending to the child was gratifying enough, on most occasions, but it did detract somewhat from both her studies and her disciplines, and she had already decided to address certain matters with the couple when they returned from their most recent 'business trip'.

Elaine Tucker's apparent dedication to her career had prompted her to take to the road again with her husband after only four months of giving birth to the child…and that had been remarkable. Remarkable enough at least that it began to raise certain questions in the young Vulcan's mind. Questions she had not been prepared to evaluate too deeply until then. But having finally done so, she evaluated those questions quite logically and extensively.

And what she discovered disturbed her.

It required, in fact, a particular response. One that would likely prove uncomfortable and most certainly confrontational.

So she entered the home, closing the door carefully behind her, and left her satchel on the table by the door, as she normally did.

She greeted the Tuckers in the kitchen, where they were busy preparing the evening meal and chatting comfortably with one another.

She went to make her routine initial evaluation of the infant Charles the Third, verifying that the babysitting neighbor, an _actual _teenager, had cared for him adequately in her absence and that all his needs were currently met.

She relocated her satchel to her room, laid out her materials for study later, meditated for one hour and quietly left the house to pick the lock on the rear door of the all-terrain vehicle. Searching until she found again the hidden panel in the rear floorboard, in the cargo area, activating it and retrieving the leather-bound bundle from there.

Bringing that just as quietly into the house again, she stowed it temporarily in the supply closet in the hall, then joined the Tuckers for supper at the dinner table.

* * *

She ate quietly and she did not engage in conversation at the dinner table until prompted to do so. She was Vulcan and that was proper Vulcan behavior.

"So, T'Pol." Charles said, providing the expected dinner conversation. "Anything interesting while we were away?"

Elaine broke in quickly, before she could answer.

"Mm." She said, swallowing quickly so that she could do so. "I know we were gone a little longer than expected. I hope that didn't cause you any problems."

T'Pol put her fork down on her plate. While it was proper to engage in conversation now, she would not do so while eating.

"It caused no problems." She assured, "Nor did anything of particular interest occur while you were away. I believe Bella may have entertained a male suitor during my final astrophysics class, but I remain uncertain, so I took the liberty of reminding her that was not acceptable while she was being employed exclusively to care for Charles the Third. Additionally, I have managed to achieve a 4.0 GPA again, having altered my study regimen to focus more on xenobiology."

Charles looked surprised and pleased at that.

"Well, that's great!" He smiled. "Now, see, I knew you'd pull that back up in no time."

"Indeed, it was a simple matter of redistributing my attention to individual areas of study in light of the new class schedule."

"I'll have a little talk with Bella." Elaine said, reaching for her glass of wine. "Anything new on your thesis?"

"I remain undecided." T'Pol admitted. "But I am leaning more toward an examination of the development of the warp two engine and the environment under which it was developed, comparing that with the historical Vulcan equivalent. The fact that something of this nature seems largely expected of me by the instructors being no small part in that decision."

"Not the micro-singularity thing?" Charles asked, frowning. "I thought you were real excited about that one."

"I would not characterize my interest as excitement." T'Pol corrected. "And it is logical to concede somewhat to the expectations of the instructors as it is their grade, and thus their approval, that is required."

"Your work should speak for itself." Elaine said, clearly disagreeing with that. "But I'm sure you'll knock their socks off with whatever you submit."

"I sincerely hope that I do not provoke that measure of emotional response, Mrs. Tucker."

The Tuckers chuckled, as expected, and that was gratifying enough.

"As for your delay in returning," T'Pol said, once the mild hysteria subsided. "Six days to travel to Texas and back is actually somewhat impressive. I would imagine you had only two days at most to conduct your business there, after taking time to rest and recover from the drive."

"Well, it turned out to be a bust." Charles said, dismissively. "Worth a shot but…you don't always find what you're looking for."

"I would have assumed you failed to reach a sale agreement due to the fact that you forgot the paperwork on the boat."

Charles blinked. "What? What do you mean?"

Elaine, however, stiffened noticeably.

"The bill of sale and the associated documentation." T'Pol explained. "I was unable to find a pacifier to satisfy Charles the Third's unrest two days ago, so I sought one in your study. You typically keep two there, in the top drawer. I noticed you left the documents…"

"It was just a pitch meeting, T'Pol." Elaine shrugged, smiling. "We didn't really expect to make the sale there."

"I see." T'Pol nodded. "And I'm sure you are aware the marine inspection stamp on the vessel is out of date, so no legal sale could have been made at this point anyway."

"Uh…right." Charles nodded. "Just a pitch. And like I said, it was worth a shot."

T'Pol said nothing further, picking up her fork to continue the meal.

While the Tuckers remained quiet, clearly uncomfortable now. Elaine sipped her wine, sharing a meaningful look with Charles.

Which T'Pol did not fail to notice.

Charles cleared his throat. "So, T'Pol…we've been meaning to talk to you about something."

T'Pol calmly put her fork down again, folding her hands comfortably in her lap to listen patiently.

Seeing that, Charles dove right in.

"We were talking on the road and we're a little concerned." Charles said. "You've been with us for a few years now and you've been a great help. The extra income renting the room hasn't hurt, but more than that you've always been trustworthy and reliable. That's hard to find, T'Pol, and you don't pass up on that when you find it."

"It has been a rewarding experience for me as well, Mr. Tucker." T'Pol acknowledged. "Not only gratifying in offering whatever help I can, I owe you both a great deal after all, but caring for Charles the Third has been especially rewarding."

Charles smirked a bit.

"Well, that almost sounds like an emotional indulgence, T'Pol."

T'Pol immediately specified her meaning.

"Rewarding in the sense that it has been helpful in preparing for the day when I have children of my own."

"Yeah, and we kinda feel like we might have taken advantage of that." Charles frowned.

"In what way?"

"Well, we know you've been with us long enough to consider us more than just associates."

At T'Pol's sudden tension, he rushed to explain.

"Now, I know that's a little impolite to point out, but it's important." He said. "Logical, I guess you'd say. And…well, we're worried you might feel like you have to stick around now that Trip's here. Maybe…you had plans to move off-campus somewhere and now you feel like you can't because we need you…"

"That is not the case, Mr. Tucker."

"I just want to be clear here, T'Pol." He insisted. "We love having you. Wouldn't trade it for the world. Hell, you've been a part of the family for a long time now. You _are _family. But we don't want to hold you back. In fact, that's _why _we don't want to hold you back."

T'Pol considered that for a moment.

"I see." She said, quietly.

Elaine jumped in then, seeing the sense of rejection she'd feared T'Pol would suffer here.

"T'Pol, please don't misunderstand." She said. "We really _do _love having you here and you really _have _been a huge help…and we really _don't _want to hold you back. Maybe it's not a comfortable thing for you to hear us say but…we love you. You're family and you have been for a long time. We don't _want _you to leave, but you're Vulcan. You're comfortable here, you're needed here and it's logical for you to be here…so you're reluctant to move on."

"She's right." Charles said, seriously. "We _don't _want you leave. Hell, we need you now more than ever, but we can't be selfish either. So, we're not asking you to leave or even encouraging you to. God, I'm hoping you don't. But we have to be realistic and we have to be honest. If you take a good look at where you need to be right now and you find that this ain't it…well, then we care enough about you that we want you to do what's best for _you_. Not for us, T'Pol."

Elaine took a moment to watch her, to be sure she understood what they were saying. Then took another stab at making it perfectly clear.

"T'Pol, we love you and we want you here." She said, earnestly. "We do need you, especially now, with Trip. But because we love you we have to accept that you have to do the logical thing. So, whatever that is, we'll be happy with it. Just…take a good look and be sure this is where you need to be right now. That you aren't just staying with us because we need you."

T'Pol thought it over. Then spoke.

"I will consider it." She said. "I will inform you of my decision later tonight."

"Well, don't rush into anything." Charles said, hastily. "Take your time with it…"

"I do not expect I will require longer than two hours to reach a decision."

Charles didn't look especially happy with that. Elaine looked worried as well.

But they didn't say anything more, they just returned their attention to the meal and ate uncomfortably.

T'Pol waited until the majority of the concern and uncertainty had passed, then politely excused herself from the table, having finished eating already. She took her plate, glass and eating utensils into the kitchen to wash them and put them away.

She checked on Charles the Third and found him sleeping comfortably in his crib.

And she caressed his scalp tenderly for a moment, in case that might be the last opportunity for her to do so.

Then went to the supply closet in the hall and retrieved the bundle, bringing it with her into the kitchen where Elaine and Charles Tucker were already cleaning their own dishes.

Pausing in the hallway to listen for a moment before entering, because they were discussing her.

"We could have handled that better." Elaine worried. "That sounded for all the world like we _wanted _her to leave."

"Well, we do, don't we?" Charles said. "That's what this is all about, isn't it?"

"Not like that. Not like we don't care about her or like she doesn't have a _place _here, Charles…"

"I know that, but it's getting dangerous out there, darlin'."

"And it's just a matter of time before it follows us home, I know. But what about Trip?"

"We're just…gonna have to work something out. We don't have any right to risk getting T'Pol involved in…"

"Then we have to take some time off." Elaine insisted. "I know you don't want to hear that…"

"I'd like nothing better, Elaine, but how are we gonna do that? We've got a few fires to put out, you know. Stirred up a few hornet nests."

"Let the other hunters handle that. We're not the only two in the whole galaxy, Charles."

T'Pol stepped forward then, entering the kitchen with the bundle in hand.

Charles was shaking his head, looking over at Elaine standing beside him at the sink, where they had long since stopped washing dishes to have this discussion.

"Well, you wanna talk about trouble following us home…" He said.

Then he spotted T'Pol out of the corner of his eye, so he didn't finish that sentence. He didn't notice what she was carrying at first, though.

"How's my boy?" He grinned, in the obvious attempt to distract from anything she might have overheard.

"Charles the Third is sleeping." T'Pol said, placing the bundle on the counter near the oven, directly opposite the two.

Behind them, in front of her, where neither would see what she was doing until she turned away again.

"I believe he will likely sleep through the night." She added, as she unfastened the bundle and began rolling it out on the counter. "I have activated the baby monitor as well, in preparation for that."

"Good." Charles nodded, turning around to lean against the sink. "Any chance you're ever going to call him 'Trip', though?"

"That is not his name, Mr. Tucker." T'Pol pointed out, as she continued to work.

"And 'Mr. Tucker' ain't my name neither."

"An arguable point, but irrelevant." She said, having rolled the bundle out fully to reveal the assortment of deadly weaponry it contained.

"Mr. Tucker," She said. "And Mrs. Tucker as well, these designations convey the proper respect."

T'Pol considered the weapons laid out before her as both the Tuckers chuckled a bit behind her. Elaine, from the sound of things, returning to washing dishes, while Charles watched her. Just now beginning to be curious what she was doing over there.

T'Pol chose the long knife from the bundle. The Vulcan knife, with the ancient, mystic symbols etched into the blade. Symbols long since forgotten even by most of her own people.

She understood their significance herself though, having researched the matter thoroughly two days ago.

Having taken the blade in hand, she turned to face Charles. Stepping aside in the process so that he could see what she'd been working with while they talked.

He froze immediately.

Taking in the pile of blades, ballistic weapons and unusual energy armaments at a glance. And turning only his eyes to meet hers at last…_after _giving the very intimidating knife in her hand the respect that it was due.

He paused, but not for very long.

"Well." He said, grimly. "Can't no one ever say you ain't got guts."

Elaine turned curiously at that statement.

And she dropped the plate she was washing back into the sink at the sight. Staring in shock, while Charles just frowned severely and intently beside her.


	2. Zero Hour

Elaine recovered from her shock quickly enough. Quickly enough to be notable, in fact.

But if the things she suspected of these two were even remotely accurate, then perhaps that was not surprising.

Charles glared, not with anger but with simple, stark intensity. She _was _holding a deadly weapon, after all, confronting them with it in their kitchen. A matter best served with respectful awareness.

Elaine spoke first, surprisingly.

She sighed, as much to release some measure of the tension that suddenly ruled her, but obviously with no small amount of resignation as well.

"So what do you think you have there, T'Pol?" She asked, evenly.

T'Pol raised the blade in her hand, considering it.

"A Vulcan knife." She said. "_Thresh-rasahk_, specifically, I am certain. An ancient ceremonial weapon, supposedly dedicated to slaying _e'shua mazhiv_. Sand demons."

Charles just nodded at that.

"I bet that'd be worth a lot of money, if it was authentic." He said, carefully.

"It is." T'Pol affirmed. "I had it appraised while you were away."

She looked back and forth between then, at their surprise.

"I took pictures." She explained, seeing the unspoken question on their faces. "I believed at first that you may be dealing with rare weapons or various artifacts of that nature. That you may be dealing in such items illegally, in fact."

"And who says we aren't?" Charles countered.

"I read the journal." She said. "The one you keep in the bedside table, along with the ballistic pistol with the silver bullets and the psychotronic projector. An electromagnetic weapon that is itself exceedingly rare, as well as being illegal to possess…"

"Alright then, let's start with your poking around where don't have a right to, T'Pol…" Charles said, getting angry now.

"Charles." Elaine said, quietly.

"No." He said, sharply, folding his arms now. "Let's start there."

"I have been tasked with caring for and protecting Charles the Third." T'Pol pointed out.

"And _that's _what this is about?"

"In part." She said. "But I have come to care more for this family than perhaps I should have allowed myself to. You have become more than associates to me, as you accurately noted earlier."

That at least silenced him for a moment, cooling his anger a little.

"I have come to care for this family." T'Pol continued. "And you _have _become family to me, at least as much as that is possible without…certain uniquely Vulcan connections that normally bind a family together. But the contents of the journal suggest that you are either both insane or at the very least involved in activities that are perilous and illegal."

"Things it would best if you didn't know about, T'Pol." Elaine suggested.

"But now I do." T'Pol countered. "And I am concerned for Charles the Third. You have made two supposed business trips since his birth, leaving him with only myself and a Human adolescent to protect him from the consequences of your actions. Should those consequences follow you home, as you spoke of prior to my entering the kitchen, and I am to protect him in such an instance, then I must know what exactly threatens…"

"No." Charles said. "You don't need to know that."

"I do." T'Pol insisted. "Of course I do."

"No, because you're not going to be here anymore."

That stifled _her _now. Because what it suggested was not at all what she'd expected here.

"I…of course must…"

"I think it's time for you to go, T'Pol."

"Charles." Elaine said, suddenly pleading.

"No." He said, firmly. "I'm sorry it has to be like this, but it's for the best."

"That is not reasonable." T'Pol argued. "I am already well invested in the infant's safety and have already formed an attachment to this family. I am the logical choice to protect him in your absence. And to provide whatever support I may to you as well. All that I require is the assurance that your…business is ethically justifiable, so that I may do so without betraying logic."

"And we've formed an attachment to you, too, T'Pol." Charles said, a little less harshly now. "Like we said, you're family. But that's why we can't bring you into this. I'm sorry but I'm afraid you'll have to go."

Elaine turned her face away and sighed painfully. And T'Pol could see tears just beginning to suggest themselves there.

So already she'd lost any possible support from Mrs. Tucker before the discussion had barely begun. And Charles was obviously taking a firm position at the outset.

"Let's reason through this matter together, Mr. Tucker…" She began.

"No, I've said my piece." Charles said, with a dreadful air of finality. "You can stay the night and we'll contact the exchange program in the morning. They'll find you another family you can help out with or set you up with a place of your own…"

"And if I contact the authorities, informing them of the things I've become aware of?"

"You won't." Elaine said, quietly.

T'Pol turned to consider her for a moment.

Because…no, she wouldn't. But that didn't necessarily render it an ineffective bargaining point…

"It would be logical to do so, lacking even the attempt to assure me your 'business' is justifiable…"

"You won't." Elaine said again, more confidently now.

T'Pol took a deep breath, suddenly finding herself scrambling for an argument.

She'd obviously made the simple mistake of assuming reason and logic would avail her now. With Humans.

"There remains the issue of Charles the Third. He will have no one reliable to care for him…"

"We'll be staying to home for a while." Charles said.

"Mr. Tucker, I believe you should consider…

"We're done talking here, T'Pol."

And…

That was that. She was suddenly quite firmly certain…the discussion was already over.

They would not listen to reason, nor would they deign to illuminate her on what she'd discovered. Not even to reassure her of the infant's safety.

"You have already made your decision." T'Pol reasoned. "Even before tonight."

"Yes, we did." Charles said. "I didn't want to go like this but…yeah, we've already made our decision here, T'Pol."

"It is not a logical decision."

"It's the right one."

* * *

T'Pol left the bundle of unusual weapons in the kitchen, as it had clearly been established that it was not her concern.

She went immediately to her studies and gave them her full attention for the next two hours, even deflecting Elaine's attempt to engage her in discussion a short time later.

She meditated for another hour, as that was required. And she showered before leaving her room again, passing the Tuckers in the hallway and politely wishing them adequate rest, as they were going to bed then.

She made her rounds, checking the locks and security system, turning off unused lights. Making certain no electrical devices were left on or even plugged in, as that would nonetheless use power and increase the electric bill unnecessarily.

And she stood at the rear patio door, gazing out on the woods behind the house while she contemplated the situation.

It was indeed unfortunate and she was significantly concerned for the family's safety.

She had not only failed to convince them to cease their dangerous and illegal activities, but she failed even to convince them to avail themselves of her support. She had never even been granted the opportunity to examine the situation critically with them.

Humans were far too often illogical and to a distressful degree. She had forgotten to account for that.

There was little that she could reasonably do here. And even contacting the authorities…however logical that might be on the one hand, the prospect of tearing this family apart in that manner was simply unacceptable. Even the thought of it was deeply disturbing.

Charles the Third would be taken away from his parents, most certainly. And at an age where such a thing would have lasting repercussions, perhaps even effecting his ability to connect emotionally with others as an adult. Something T'Pol was well aware was crucial for Humans.

The statistics were clear on that point. It would impact his studies as an adolescent to a marked degree. He would be three times more likely to exhibit serious behavioral problems as well. Twice as likely to suffer depression or even attempt suicide. Gang recruitment, brushes with the justice system if not outright criminal activity and correctional rehabilitation, increased likelihood of habitual violent behavior, higher likelihood of divorce when he eventually mated…the long term effects were all well documented and very distressing.

It was simply not an option.

And she could not betray this family to begin with. They had long become _k'war'mah'khon_, perhaps not genetically related nor bonded to her, but family in every other way that mattered.

They had opened their home to her when she came to Earth, having afforded herself of the exchange program to receive an education conducive to future service with the Vulcan Space Program. And not merely opened their home, but opened their hearts as well. Accepted her fully, even taking the time and effort required to understanding her people, so that they could more fully understand her. Doing that at a time when few on Earth found the Vulcan people especially agreeable.

They had supported her when her mother passed away unexpectedly on Vulcan. And suddenly left with no immediate family any longer…no bonds to support her at all…they had still managed to make it possible for her to stay and continue her studies here. The environment they provided had proven every bit as supporting and accepting, much more so to be honest, than any of the distant relatives on Vulcan could hope to offer her, even granted the benefit of any vague and scarcely perceptible familial bond they might have claimed.

She'd stayed, because this had become her family. Because she had a place here.

But no longer, it would seem.

And she accepted that.

It was hard and it was difficult, but she was an adult and had been for some time, whatever her appearance to Human eyes. She was quite aware that life was not fair and that the universe cared nothing for your concerns.

So she accepted it and began turning her mind toward how best to respond. Where to go from here. Whether to relocate to the Vulcan Compound in the city and perhaps transfer to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in the spring.

Perhaps…even returning to Vulcan.

She contemplated these matters for two hours, standing at the rear patio door, gazing out on the woods behind the house. And she made her decisions in that regard, as much as they might not be preferable to her.

Then she returned to her room and slept for the required three hours, so that she could rise again early, conduct her daily exercise regimen and prepare the morning meal for the family. Something no longer required of her as a guest, but something she continued to find gratifying.

So she was sleeping only lightly at 2400 hours and she woke easily when Charles the Third grew restless then.

* * *

Elaine met her in the hall, so she immediately altered her course. Heading down the hallway toward the stairs, to go to the kitchen on the first floor.

Elaine rubbed her eyes sleepily.

"He's probably hungry." She mumbled after her. "Can you fetch a bottle…?"

She stopped and chuckled when she realized T'Pol was already on the way to do that.

"I will." T'Pol affirmed. But she paused at the head of the stairs.

"Mrs. Tucker." She said, stopping the woman at the door to the nursery. "It is now zero hour and two minutes, August 21st. Charles the Third is six months old today."

Elaine smiled that. "Yeah, I was thinking about that yesterday. Think we should bake him a cake or something?"

T'Pol waited politely. Until Elaine was able to realize…no, _they _wouldn't be baking him a cake.

It was no longer her place to participate in such things, of course.

Elaine was quickly dismayed, realizing why she stared and said nothing. But T'Pol cut her off before she could engage in any form of emotional resolution, as that was entirely unnecessary.

"There is a bottle prepared in the refrigerator." T'Pol said. "One of the blue glowing models, which he typically prefers at night. I will bring that one to you."

And she left to do so immediately, heading down the stairs briskly before Elaine could say anything further.

Elaine hesitated a moment longer, more than a little unsteady. Realizing…

T'Pol would be leaving them. And maybe…

Well, let's be honest. There were times where she wasn't exactly a big fan of having a very cutely pointy eared young girl running around the house in those little thermal catsuits she seemed to prefer. And never mind how deceptively _not _a young girl she was to begin with. She was technically a couple of years older than she was and a hell of a lot smarter.

So, yes, some part of her would be relieved to see her go.

But mostly not. Not at all and not in any way.

She had become a part of the family. Probably…if you wanted to get right down to it…probably one of only two parts of this that were still…pure. Still _good_.

T'Pol and little Trip. They were really all that she and Charles had anymore. The only things they had to live for.

And they had to let T'Pol go.

Bad enough on its own. But what it suggested and what it illustrated quite perfectly about little Trip…

Things were going to have to change now. Because they had a child now and the couldn't afford the risks they'd embraced so comfortably before.

Elaine sighed, accepting that as much as she could having been woken at midnight by a fussy baby. And she entered the nursery.

Finding, to her quiet angst, that Charles had apparently risen quietly and beat them _both _to it. Not in the bathroom, as she'd assumed when she got up and found him gone a minute ago. So the last minute or so of having suffered so much discomfort on so many levels had rather been wasted.

Elaine snorted a little though.

"You know," She said, quietly, to the man standing in the dark over the crib. "If you were gonna get up, you could have let me know so I could go back to sleep."

Charles said nothing. He stood quietly in the dark, hovering slightly over the crib. Trip safely in his arms, judging from the way his shoulders were set.

So…maybe he was having a daddy moment there. And that was fine. She'd leave him to it and maybe kiss his face a bit when he got back to bed.

Elaine left quietly, closing the door behind her, and walked softly to the stairs, meeting T'Pol on the way up. Glowing blue baby bottle in hand, already warmed to precisely the correct temperature, of course.

"Charles is taking care of him." Elaine smiled. "Take him the bottle, if you don't mind. I'm going to get him a snack from…"

"Mr. Tucker is in the kitchen." T'Pol said, uncertainly.

Elaine's brow furrowed at that. But…

"No, he's in the nursery…"

T'Pol pointed back down the stairs, toward the kitchen.

"I just spoke with him there." She said. "He is preparing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to eat before returning to bed."

Elaine stared for only a moment…then, to T'Pol's surprise, her eyes flew open wide and she was suddenly running back up the stairs again, taking the steps two at a time.

Panicked, apparently. Which T'Pol found curious.

Had something occurred with the infant…?

T'Pol followed immediately. Quickly, in case there really was some cause for concern. But not running, nor taking the steps two at a time. Simply moving with a more reasonable degree of haste.

And so she barely exited the stairwell when Elaine began to scream from within the nursery.


	3. Green Eyed Monster

Charles Tucker stumbled and damned near bit his own hand when Elaine screamed. He'd just been reaching to take a bite of the sandwich but he practically left it hanging mid air to rush now to the stairs.

Up, taking the steps two at a time, and onward, rushing into the dark room…panicked, breathing sharply, tense and ready to respond to the threat…

But Elaine was just standing there.

Standing there, with Trip safely in her arms. Not looking upset or even worried at all…

So…what the hell?

"Elaine…what…?" Charles demanded, suddenly confused.

He noticed T'Pol there as well, standing to one side. Standing there in her underwear, with one of the glowing blue bottles in her hand.

Staring down at the dead man on the floor…

Charles shifted his focus sharply there.

The man was pretty damned dead, his throat gashed wide open and blood pooled all around his upper body. _Gallons _of it, it almost seemed.

Elaine's bare footprints ran right through it. Ran through it and tracked right over to the crib, then on and around to the far side where she stood now, rocking Trip gently in her arms by the window.

Singing a lullaby. In a pretty creepy assed vacant manner.

"…_pocket full of posies…"_

She…was in shock or something…

Charles practically dove for the corpse, doing his best not to get in the blood smeared all over the place. Failing, already with his knees resting in the warm pool of it.

Grabbing at the shirt at the dead man's chest, bunching that tightly and quickly, in case he needed to be punched in the face a few times anyway. Dead or not.

Looking him over intently, searching. Trying to figure…

"What happened?" He demanded.

"_Ashes, ashes…we all fall down…"_

"Elaine!" He shouted.

What the hell was the matter with her…? She was just standing there at the window, rocking Trip gently, in her nightgown.

Her blood stained nightgown…

"_Ring around the rosie…" _She sang, quietly.

"The man was here when I entered the room." T'Pol said suddenly.

Charles jerked his attention to her.

"He was lying there, bleeding profusely from the neck wound." She said, pointing with the baby bottle. "But he died before I could help him."

Charles looked her over quickly and saw. Her hands were practically soaked in blood, smeared all over the baby bottle now as she nervously fiddled with it unawares. On her hands, on her arms and on her bare stomach.

She'd tried to help the man before he died.

"Elaine?" Charles demanded, trying again. Staring intently at her now.

"_What do you suppose we…"_

"_Elaine!"_

"…_can do to…light the…darkness…in which…we…drown…"_

Charles stood up slowly, staring at her.

Something was wrong…

"_Ring around the rosie…"_

Charles rose fully to his feet, still staring intently at Elaine.

Suddenly afraid.

Only _now _afraid.

"T'Pol…" He said, quietly. Carefully, keeping his eyes on Elaine.

Even if his voice shook a bit now.

"_The evil thing, it knows me…" _Elaine sang.

"…I want you to go to bedroom, get my backpack from there…"

"_Lost ghosts surround me…"_

"…bring it here. Right now, T'Pol."

"…_I can't…fall…down."_

T'Pol had already turned to do as she was told. And Elaine spoke then.

"Why don't you stick around a minute, T'Pol?" She said, softly.

She hesitated at the door, because…that suggested perhaps Mrs. Tucker was not quite so in shock as she'd seemed…

"Picked that up from a truck driver in Nevada." Elaine said, turning her smile on Charles now. "From some old video game. Pretty damned creepy, don't you think, Chuck? Little Trip here seems to like it, though…"

"Who the hell are you?" Charles growled.

Elaine ignored him for a moment. Trip held gently to her chest, cradled there, with blood flecked and splattered all across the front of her nightgown.

On her neck and on her hands.

"Oh, T'Pol." She said, with mocking concern. "What was I thinking? You must be _freezing _standing there in your undies like that. And, oh!"

She shifted her eyes a little lower.

"…I can see that you are. Oh, you poor dear." Elaine said, still mocking. "But I bet old Chuck didn't even notice. Or…_did _you Chuck?"

Charles glanced over, despite himself, frowning…

"Well, he has _now_, of course." Elaine said, disapproving. "It doesn't really help if you only notice when you have it _pointed out_ to you it, Chuck. Poor T'Pol's probably wishing she dressed up a bit more for you now. Or…a bit _less_, maybe…"

"Mrs. Tucker…" T'Pol asked, uncertainly. "What are you talking about?"

Elaine chuckled then. A little too deeply.

"Now, that is just delightful. You're going to be a lot of fun, aren't you?"

"T'Pol," Charles growled, staring at Elaine again. "Go get my backpack…"

"Let's not bother with all that, Chuck." Elaine said, smirking. "I could bash this little baby's head in about ten dozen times before she could fetch it. Three or four more times before you could do anything about it anyway. And that's what you're really worried about, aren't you?"

T'Pol tensed.

Mrs. Tucker had clearly lost her mind. The trauma of having witnessed the man's death…or perhaps in having been _responsible _for it…

She glanced between them, Elaine and Charles, uncertain what to do here.

But Charles just stood there. Tense and staring intently…doing nothing.

Charles the Third was beginning to get restless. Beginning to fuss, undoubtedly sensing the tension in the room. He began to whimper…

And T'Pol handled the bottle in her hand again anxiously, unaware that she did so and unaware still of the blood she smeared around in it in the process.

"Oh, don't worry, T'Pol." Elaine said, soothingly. "Little Trip's not hungry. Not anymore. Isn't that right, little Trip? Hm? Well, let's put you right back to bed, little one."

Elaine approached the crib gracefully and T'Pol suppressed even more agitation now.

Mrs. Tucker seemed almost a threat to the infant now, with her strange behavior. And approaching the crib, to place him safely back there again…that somehow only emphasized the danger all the more.

Charles…did nothing.

He just stood, glaring. Unmoving.

"Did you know, T'Pol?" Elaine asked, as she carefully place Charles the Third back in the crib. Covering him tenderly with the blanket, while he only grew all the more distressed. "Infants are much more limited in their ability to remove themselves from distressful situations. Or to understand and manage their emotional states. They depend on the adults around them for that sort of thing. They're quite vulnerable. And all the more interestingly…they're traumatized by entirely different things than your average adult. Now, does any of that seem logical to you?"

Elaine caressed the infant's forehead absently while she spoke, smearing the blood of the dead man there just as T'Pol did the baby bottle.

She leaned casually on the crib then…and grinned over at Charles.

"Now," She said, grinning wickedly. "Let's get this party started."

And to T'Pol even greater disturbance…Mrs. Tucker's eyes flashed green.

Mrs. Tucker's eyes were not green, they were blue. And they did not glow as they did now. That was not normal for Humans.

The backpack…

T'Pol understood now, at least as much as she was able to. There were weapons in the backpack. Weapons and…things she didn't understand. Things Charles needed now.

So she turned quickly to run.

And something struck her back immediately. Not at any particular point or place, but her entire back. From the back of her knees, to her shoulders, to the back of her head. Something harsh and unforgiving.

She left the floor, flying face first into the wall by the door, before she could fully register what had happened to her. And she didn't fall then, even once she realized, because the thing that had struck her pressed against her still, holding her there. Grinding her entire body painfully into the wall, enough that she grunted uncontrollably from it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Charles finally move. Driving forward now toward Mrs. Tucker, fist drawn back to strike.

She wasn't sure what to think about that.

But it didn't matter. The blow never landed. Elaine merely glanced at him and he inexplicably went flying back, limbs flailing, to bounce off the far wall himself. He at least coming to rest, groaning already in pain, rather than being ground mercilessly into the wall as she was.

Charles the Third was beginning to cry now and T'Pol understood intuitively that this is what Mrs. Tucker had meant, referencing the nature of emotional trauma in infants.

That was her intention now.

If that _was _Mrs. Tucker. And T'Pol was suddenly sure that, in some way she couldn't quite imagine, it was not.

Elaine threw her bloody hands out wide now, grinning.

"You really didn't think that was going to do anything other than get you tossed around like a rag doll, did you, Chuck?" She chuckled.

Elaine turned away, grinning at her now. Raising one hand to flip it subtly…

And T'Pol suddenly flipped. Flopping over painfully on her back, against the wall still. The force holding her there pressing painfully into her knees, stomach, ribs…shoving her face to the side, into the wall.

She grunted from the pain of it, gasping.

"Mrs. Tucker…" She struggled.

"Oh, don't be stupid." Elaine said.

She noticed Charles taking to his feet again, on the far side of the room. Too far, it seemed, to do anything about Elaine approaching her so menacingly.

T'Pol thought furiously. The situation was entirely out of her experience. She had nothing from which to draw on in determining how best to respond here. What the most logical response to this threat could possibly be.

She couldn't come up with anything. Couldn't even determine anything to say, much less do here.

Elaine noticed Charles on his feet again, now apparently resigned to doing nothing himself.

"Greed." Elaine suddenly announced. "Let's talk about greed. Greed's an interesting thing. A very _good _thing. But there's a problem with greed that you have to…_adjust _yourself to, if you want to really want to reap the rewards…"

"What the hell do you _want?!" _Charles snapped, furiously. Fists bunched at his sides but…unable to do anything here.

"I have what I came here for." Elaine said. "This is all icing on the cake. And isn't that a wonderful phrase? 'Icing on the cake'. A perfect picture of what I'm talking about. The problem with greed, Chuck."

Elaine reached and smacked T'Pol's face affectionately. And perhaps with slightly more sadistic force than required for the expression.

"You're a greedy boy, Chuckie." Elaine admonished. "And that would be just great, but you haven't really _dug in _to the wonderful mystery of greed. Greed's beautiful, very rewarding, but you have to accept that you can't hold onto _everything _greed gives you."

Elaine snarled happily, reaching and grabbing a fistful of T'Pol's hair. The force that held her against the wall somehow allowing her to wrench and shake her head painfully in the process.

"Oh, so greedy." Elaine hissed, glaring wickedly at Charles. "A doting wife and a hot little live in babysitter. A fellow hunter…and that's pretty sexy in its own right, isn't it, Chuckie? A nicely exotic little teeny girl Vulcan who's still old enough to know her business? Well, you just don't know what to do with yourself, do you, Chuck?"

"Leave them alone." Charles warned, glaring. Chest heaving.

"Now, see? You're a smart boy. You already know where I'm going with this, don't you?"

"I swear to God, I'll kill you…"

"Heard it before, son." Elaine smirked. "Usually comes right before all the screaming. Kinda like now."

Mrs. Tucker freed her hand from wrenching at her hair…and brought it to her chest.

Pressing brutally there…and T'Pol began to feel heat rise within her immediately.

Quickly, until it was already becoming unbearable. Agonizing.

_Burning_.

"Not so cold now, are yah?" Elaine grinned up at her.

She pressed _harder_.

Heat surged through her chest. Raging, flaring…she could feel her heart wither…

Her skin already smoking from it, even the oils of her skin evaporating already…

It wasn't possible. What she was feeling wasn't possible. She would be dead _already _if…

T'Pol began to scream, despite herself. Wielding all her disciplines now _not _to do that, knowing perfectly well the intent here.

But she couldn't stop.

"Damn you!" Charles seethed.

"Hardly at all." Elaine chuckled. "But little T'Pol's sure feeling the heat, Chuckie boy."

T'Pol's hand were suddenly free of the force holding them against the wall and she struggled with the arm and the hand that burned her.

Screaming uncontrollably, flailing at the arm, digging frantically at the hand at her chest. Unable to so much as budge _anything_…

Even knowing she'd been freed in that way precisely to make that attempt. To flail and scream helplessly, in order to torment Charles all the more.

"So, icing on the cake." Elaine shouted, over the sounds of T'Pol's screaming and thrashing. "See, that's why you can't have your cake and eat it, too. Because of the icing. Too much of a good thing. You've got to _devour _that cake the second you get it, before someone bigger than you comes along and _takes _it. So what's it going to be, Chuck?"

The burning suddenly stopped, as Elaine shoved her one time, harshly, back into the wall. Nearly knocking the breath out of her, leaving her to heave and whimper, hands grasped desperately at the arms still driving her into the wall.

"_You son of a…"_

"Another word, Chuck." Elaine warned, holding up one finger for emphasis. "Just one more word that isn't a _name_…and I pluck their eyes out. Pluck the eyes right out of them. And there are some very interesting places I can go from there…"

T'Pol's hand shot out, before she even made the conscious decision.

Her hand shot out, reaching desperately for Elaine's face…

Only hoping she could find the contact points, as misguided as her pain-warped perceptions were at the moment.

Reaching out wildly…touching…amazingly enough, _connecting_…

And Elaine was there. There behind the horror that occupied her mind, almost glowing around the corners of the impossible black hatred writhing across her _katra_…

She was there, screaming…

And the darkness welled, shoving her consciousness back out again, almost effortlessly.

Elaine chuckled wickedly at her, even as her fingers still sat perfectly on the contact points. Touching…nothing at all now.

"Brave girl." She said, smirking.

T'Pol gasped for breath, only remembering now to breath.

"Kill me." She said, groaning still in pain. "Charles…kill _me!"_

"Oh ho!" Elaine crowed. "We have a volunteer! Now, isn't that just lovely? What more could you ask for, Chuck?"

"Charles, do it!" T'Pol begged. "Trip needs her! It is _torturing _her!"

"Oh, am I _ever_." Elaine giggled.

"T'Pol…!" Charles yelled.

And T'Pol took the opportunity.

Because it was logical to do so.

"The name!" She groaned. "You have the name. Take me and let her go."

"No!" Charles yelled.

Elaine grinned broadly.

"No?" She said, cocking her head curiously at him. "Are you sure, Chuck? Seems your little Vulcan here has a good point."

"He said my name!" T'Pol grunted, painfully.

Elaine nodded at that, appreciatively.

And she shrugged slowly, grimacing, at Charles. _Mocking _him.

"Okay, then…going once…" She said, with apparent reluctance.

Mr. Tucker's face contorted and he closed his eyes, struggling.

"Oh, God…" He whispered.

"Going twice…" Elaine said, voice rising.

"Charles, please…" T'Pol begged, still writhing.

_Please, don't say anything. Let it happen…_

And Elaine had her by the throat suddenly, pulled her away from the wall. The force crushing her in place there…gone.

She choked, fingers struggling now to pull the hand away. Trying to find purchase, to let even a single breath past the fingers crushing her neck.

Elaine drew her in close, to whisper in her ear.

"You know, when you looked in here…" She whispered. "I looked in _there_, too."

Elaine heaved back suddenly, pulling back one-armed to throw her across the room by the neck.

Sending her flying through the air, tumbling across the ground, _slamming _against the wall next to Charles.

"_No sale!" _Elaine announced grandly, arms flung wide.

And she laughed as they stared back at her. Charles only just rising from having tried, and failed, to catch her before she struck the wall. T'Pol still choking, hunched over the pain wracking her body still.

"Now, if I do this right, Chuck." Elaine smirked. "You'll have about three seconds. It won't be enough, though."

She reached for her neck…

And Charles was already up and running…

Arriving to throw his arms around her and take her down a split second after she tore her own jugular vein open.

Blood spraying impossibly already, the moment he was there. Spraying across the room, across the ceiling…across his face as Elaine turned, grinning at him.

Because that had been intentional.

T'Pol watched wide eyed as Charles screamed and wailed helplessly. Trying in vain to stop the blood. Trying to apply pressure.

But she fought him, grinning all the while. Slapping his hands away effortlessly. Slapping him a time or two as well, clearly just for the sadistic pleasure of it.

T'Pol was eventually able to scramble weakly over to help, once Elaine was too weak to fight anymore. But it was too late. She was unconscious quickly, too much blood already lost.

Both of them drenched in it now, T'Pol putting pressure on the wound in his place, because Charles had been reduced to clutching her body to him, screaming helplessly as she slipped away.

She was gone in a moment.

Charles keening, lost in his horror and anguish. Charles the Third wailing now as well, sensing it all and not knowing what to make of it.

T'Pol made her decision. There was no other logical choice.

Elaine was gone. So she let go of the wound, allowing the last of the blood that would come to do so. She rose unsteadily and stumbled to the crib.

Taking the blanket away, to wipe the worst of the blood from her hands. And she took the infant to her chest. Touching him, sending peace and comfort as she was able. Until he calmed, at least somewhat.

Still upset, still crying, but not as overwhelmed and frightened as he'd been.

Somewhere beyond the confines of the blood splattered nursery, something evil laughed.

The sound of it coming from everywhere and nowhere. Flowing relentlessly along the wall, along the floor, all around them both. Around T'Pol, where she held the infant close to her chest. Around Charles, where he clutched his dead wife in much the same manner.

Around and through, along the walls, lighting upon the electrical outlet on the wall where they'd both been thrown before.

Teasing a spark from it…and flicker of flame…a _gout _of sudden flame, splashing impossibly across the wall, out of nowhere…

T'Pol reached the front yard well before he did, sparing only a moment to yell at him to leave Elaine. To escape the house before it was too late.

To leave her and live. For Trip's sake.

She waited in the yard, clutching the crying child to her chest.

Waited, until she was almost certain he would not come.

But he did. And his eyes were hard and cold as he stepped out of the burning house. The house that had been a home only minutes before. Their home and, yes, hers as well.

The place where a family once lived and loved. Now a hellish monument to blood and flame, already collapsing under the weight of its own evil.

T'Pol could only watch as he stepped out, the roof behind him falling in practically at his heels. His eyes dead and empty, the journal in one hand, retrieved from who knows where…

She watched and he didn't look at her when he came to stand with her. Not at her, nor at the child she held to her.

He looked back at the house and he watched it burn.


	4. Rose Petal Reunions

**Starfleet Training Center  
****Cadet Compound Four  
****Sausalito, California  
****April 14, 2144  
**_**(Twenty-three years later)**_

Trip ran through the woods of…some world he couldn't remember the name of. Ran as much with determination as with fear.

He was no stranger to fear, hardly immune to it at all. Brave, not so much. Courageous, though…that much he had learned. To endure fear and work through it, not to suppress it or deny it. It was too powerful a force for that.

For Humans, at least. For T'Pol, that was another matter. And he envied her at times like this.

You work _through_ your fear though, if you were Human. You _use _your fear. Take the strength it gives you and turn it against the thing that threatens you. And so he did now.

_Tamori_, Andorian cannibals. Four of them, hard on his trail.

They'd apparently tracked them, right along the road they driven down less than half an hour before. Moving in on the cargo bug once dad and T'Pol were gone, finding him inside it there alone.

Left alone by his father and by T'Pol, while they took the _tamori _they'd captured to the old abandoned mine nearby. These four had come to rescue their brother from the Human hunters.

Trip couldn't understand why they'd left him alone like that. Maybe he was only nine years old but he could shoot pretty well. Tension powered weapons, bows of all sorts. Ballistic weapons. Energy weapons. You name it, he could kill with it.

He had four times already, out of necessity.

Knives as well. Clubs, staves, practically every simple form of hand-to-hand weapon. Unarmed combat as well, at least enough to defend himself and make use of the most effective defensive technique…running away.

But T'Pol had been sick for days. Sick and…irritable. Grumpy. Even downright mean a few times. Snapping at everyone, losing her temper and _breaking _things. It was…almost scary. Almost.

They'd captured the _tamori_, instead of just killing it like they should have. And they brought it out here, to the mine, and then they'd just left him in the transport. Told him to wait there until they came back…

They'd never done that before. Never left him alone like that.

He had a plasma pistol, at least. And a one-shot rock-salt scattergun he knew how to reload real quick. The one pretty useful right now, the other not really at all.

He turned and fired off a shot behind him, not expecting to hit anything, just to maybe make one or them lose a step or two. It was, literally, worth a shot. Because they were gaining on him a little.

He was nine years old, after all. Not quite as fast a runner as a pack of supernatural cannibal people, especially running through the woods like that.

He saw the big shack come into view, just to the right of the old mineshaft they'd found earlier that day. The one where they thought they'd found the nest. But it had been a red herring. Clues scattered around cleverly to lead them here for an ambush.

Killed four of them before the other five scattered. Trip had even managed to burn one across the leg on his second shot, so dad could drop that one easy while it tried to limp away…

There was light around the edge of the old wooden doors to the shack. So they were in there.

He hit the door at a dead run, panting, out of breath. Scared, yes, but still working with it. Still using it. Flinging open the door to yell…

"Dad! Incoming! Four of 'em!"

Staggering through the door as he yelled, barely spotting his father inside the shack on the right. Plasma rifle shouldered but pointed low, focused on the fight going on in the center of the place before whirling at his warning to cover the door. Eyes wide himself now, surprised to find him there, bursting through the door. Surprised at the maniacal howling approaching from outside…

Trip staggered through the door to only _now _fall to his knees and then flat on his face, his endurance finally giving out on him. Almost rolling over the moment he fell to cover the door with the phase pistol, though...

He didn't want one of them jumping on him when they came through the door. Dad wouldn't be able to get a clear shot…

But he didn't roll over. Because of what was happening in the middle of the shack. Happening there, on the dirt floor of the place, where all the assorted old junk had been pushed and thrown and tossed aside to make room.

T'Pol was there, with long jungle blades in each hand. Snarling, swinging viciously, looking…crazy.

Looking _wild_.

He'd arrived just in time to see it, the moment when she made the kill. Already flecked with little green cuts here and there, one nasty gash on her right arm that didn't seem to be slowing her down.

The _tamori _itself already missing an arm. It lay on the ground, just two feet from his face, already dissolving in a putrid, black mess. And the _tamori _grasped the stump with its free claw, taking the pain, waiting for the arm to grow back…

The terrified look in its eyes, though…it knew it wouldn't grow back in time. Not in time to be of any use.

And T'Pol smirked. Eyes wide and crazed, thrilled with it all. Chest heaving, smirking wildly…

She lunged forward, snarling again suddenly. Whirling both blades before her in a graceful windmill pattern…entirely to distract…

From the first blade suddenly springing forward to pierce the creature through the gut when it swung out desperately at her. It howled and grasped her arm in its one claw, trying to control her…but she twisted anyway. Twisted the blade in its gut until it fell to its knees, howling all the more loudly.

And she left the blade there to stalk around behind it, her eyes all the wilder, all the more crazed.

Grasping it by the forehead with her free hand, slitting its throat from behind with the blade in the other.

Letting it fall, twitching and gurgling, before grinning madly and raising the blade over her head. Bringing it down with all the wild abandon of a Vulcan lost in violent ecstasy, decapitating it with no discernible resistance at all. Burying the blade in the dirt even, right up to the hilt.

T'Pol's chest heaved as she panted, moaning slightly as she did. And the look on her face…that wide-eyed, crazy look…

Trip had seen it before. He would see it, actually, years later in history class. High school courses taken over subspace, aboard some anonymous ship they traveled on. Studying Adolf Hitler and the remarkable charisma of the madman. How his public speeches and all the groundbreaking showmanship orchestrated to carefully to support them could drive the masses to literal worship.

He'd seen the look on T'Pol's face before. He would see it years later for the second time. A face in the crowd at one such German gathering to hear Hitler speak. A woman in the crowd, turning her face to the camera for a moment, in stark black and white. Eyes wide and glazed with madness, grinning vacantly. Driven beyond reason by nothing more than one madman giving a speech.

Orgasmic. That was what the film he'd watched, the film he would one day watch, had called it. That look on her face.

T'Pol stood over the dissolving, stinking puddle of ichor that had been a _tamori _only a moment ago. That very same look on her face now.

And she looked over at him once she'd yanked the blade free of the dirt, looking at him where he lay just inside the door of the shack. Where he lay looking back at her, long since swept away by the sight, even forgetting the creatures intent on killing and devouring him that had chased him all the way here.

She looked over at him, with that look on her face. And she smiled all the more wildly.

At him. _For _him.

Her eyes flashing green suddenly, lit by the fire of the passion and violence that ruled her then.

And she lifted the blade, still dripping with the blood of the beast she'd slain…

Slitting her own throat wide open. Still smiling wildly and madly at him, as her green blood gushed from her neck.

Smiling for him.

Just as she'd slit her own throat for him…

* * *

Trip woke, gasping for breath and reaching out blindly for the gun on the bedside table…

It wasn't there and he turned, still stifling the scream that whined in his throat, reaching with both hands to _find _it.

It wasn't…there…

Because this wasn't Arkali. He wasn't on Arkali.

He looked around wildly in the dark, eyes wide with terror, trying to wrap his head around…what was going on…

But…Earth. He was on Earth. In his…dorm room, in California.

God, no.

Not that same dream again…it _was _a dream, right?

His one hand still gripped the bedside table, where nothing waited to greet it but a lamp he'd nearly knocked over and a holographic clock that suggested it was far too early in the morning for this sort of behavior…

The other hand bunched, tangled even, in the sheets at his side. Desperately holding on to _something _real, something in the _real _world.

He focused on catching his breath, reminding himself that he was breathing just fine. That he was safe here and it was just a dream…

Just that same goddamned dream…

Something moved behind him and his fingers twitched. Not quite going rigid, but almost. Ready for when he sent that savage chop back against the face or neck of whoever…or _whatever_…lay in the bed behind him.

But he knew her, recognized her. She was safe.

Tali. That was Tali.

Already touching his back tentatively, sending her hand to caress tenderly upward when he didn't twitch or jump. Caressing up to his shoulder as she rose behind him to bring both hands into play.

Instinctively comforting him with her touch and he welcomed it now. Letting the tension evaporate as she stroked his back, his shoulders…hands inevitably finding their way into his hair.

He was pretty sweaty from all the abject terror his subconscious had just visited on him, but Tali didn't mind. It was just another rare sensual experience to her.

He relaxed into her touch until she inevitably began to kiss softly at his neck and shoulders, fingers still lost in his hair. And, just as inevitably, began to nibble…

He chuckled. And he felt her humor, somewhere in the back of his mind. Bubbling up there in whatever place her mind touched his in that way. She lay fully against his back then, as naked as he was. Fingers in his hair, mouth on his neck and shoulders, that unconscious part of her mind sliding just as sensually through _his _mind…

And as inevitably as everything else, casually brushing against the door there. The locked, barred, hermetically and magnetically sealed door it knew very well it wasn't allowed beyond.

"Not gonna happen, darlin'." Trip grinned. Head already lolled forward at all the relaxation and downright sensual pleasure going on here.

"I can't help it." She muttered. Still kissing, still nibbling. Still doing her best to experience the texture of her every single possible combination of hairs on his head sliding through her fingers.

And she grinned playfully in his mind, if nowhere else.

"Right." Trip said, bringing his head up at last. Fighting a little to reassert himself before she completely dominated the hell out of him here.

"True." She mumbled, kissing and tasting.

"Well, then your mind has a mind of its own."

More ethereal humor.

And affection. A deep and abiding affection, born of months of such intimacy.

Her feet suddenly appeared to either side of him, sliding down between his thighs…nudging them aside to make room until her calves rested comfortably there. Hands abandoning his hair to explore the muscles of his stomach.

She enjoyed that for a long moment, moaning just a little in appreciation.

Her hands on his stomach, a clear threat that they might develop a mind of their own as well. Maybe inch down a bit and start some trouble, because there was already a bit of trouble brewing down there as it was.

The humorous creature in his mind rather delighting in suggesting that very thing.

"Threats like that aren't going to convince me to give in, you know." Trip said, over his shoulder. "Quite the opposite. I've got good reason to hold out now."

Her humor and delight flowed warm and welcome through his mind, even showing a little in her eyes now as she gazed back at him over his shoulder. Her head entirely, perfectly bald, save for perhaps the second most attractive set of eyebrows he'd ever seen on a woman.

Not that he'd _ever _admit eyebrows were something he valued. That'd be a little too kinky even for him.

Her face was otherwise relatively blank, but the subtle cues were all there regardless. And he'd learned to read her quite well already, the supposed Human inability to reciprocate telepathic contact notwithstanding.

She reached to draw his face closer to her, forcing him to turn. Kissing him tenderly. The perfect kiss for the situation, as always.

He smiled back at her then. With his mouth, with his eyes and with his mind.

But he was still mired in dark places, she could easily sense.

So she allowed herself to fall back, dragging him with her. Forcing him around to lay atop her, face to face. Considering something as he stroked _her_ scalp now, bald though it may be. Until she nudged his mind with what she contemplated.

"What?" Trip asked, curious.

"Chocolate and rose petals." She breathed. "My favorite."

Trip grinned.

"Well, that's something." He said, huskily. "I just so happened to have stashed a few dozen fresh rose petals in the freezer this morning."

Her eyes practically lit up.

"Are they cold enough?" She asked.

"I'd bet on it."

"Perfect." She sighed.

Trip chuckled brightly. "You really like that? Freezing cold rose petals?"

"It is glorious."

"You're Deltan." Trip smirked. "_Everything _is glorious to you."

She smiled, literally at last. And drew him even closer to her.

"Some things more than others." She whispered, hands already seeking out those things.

* * *

He was tired and he was sore, but he was about as happy as he got these days. Maybe that wasn't all that happy…but it beat the alternative.

Couldn't sleep now, though. And with Tali having eventually rolled off his chest to lay dreaming at his side, he could at least slip out of bed without disturbing her.

Which was convenient, since he heard Babovich sneaking in through the front door. Never mind the text he'd sent earlier and the clear tape on the cardkey lock.

Trip sighed and got carefully out of bed.

Quietly and stealthily, in full ninja mode here. Both to avoid waking Tali up so she couldn't go wandering buck naked into the kitchen for a causal conversation with Babovich…which would probably end up with the Russian jackass getting his face bashed in…and to get up and out of bed quickly before Babovich wandered in _here _drunk as a skunk. Which would probably end up with same said Russian jackass getting his face bashed in.

He found his t-shirt on the floor and slid it back on, even as he glided quickly and quietly into the kitchen…before realizing then weren't any drunk cadets stumbling around in here anywhere. Whoever had just opened and closed the front door of the dorm either hadn't entered or was in here doing the ninja thing themselves.

Because he got not the first sense that anyone was here but he and Tali. Despite being perfectly aware that there damned well _was _someone else here.

He made straight for the butcher's knife in the knife stand on the counter, keeping the entrance to the living room in sight, not taking his eyes off it. Knowing exactly where the knife was without having to look at it.

He had the handle in hand, pulling it carefully free, still watching the doorway where whoever was here had to be. There wasn't exactly room in the kitchen for anyone else without them getting stepped on in the dark.

The blade of the knife _snicked _quietly as he drew it free, not loudly enough that anyone in there could possibly hear…

A light came on in the living room. One of the lamps by the couch.

Coincidence, of course. No one in there could have possibly heard that…

Unless…they were Vulcan.

Yeah, unless that.

And she had tried to call a few times over the last couple of days…

_Crap._

He kept the knife in hand, though. Just in case. Which maybe wasn't the brightest idea. Because she had him pinned and disarmed the second he walked through the doorway.

Because, you know, just in case herself, I guess.

"Yeah, hi, T'Pol." Trip grunted, his face planted firmly into the wall by the doorway.

The arm lock eased up…but it didn't quite go away.

"I called." T'Pol said, somewhere over his shoulder.

"Right." He grumbled. "And you couldn't very well break my arm over the comm or anything."

She held him in check anyway. Just to be a bitch about things, apparently.

"Could have rung the buzzer." Trip said, at least now able to pull his mouth away from the wonderful taste of fire-proofing plastic on the wall.

"You have been engaging in sexual intercourse with the Deltan practically non-stop since yesterday." T'Pol said, coldly. "I was unable to determine when ringing the buzzer would not be a complete waste of time."

Trip snapped.

"You gonna let me go anytime soon, T'Pol?"

She eased up a little more…but no, apparently not quite.

Tali was suddenly there, standing in the doorway. Standing there wearing nothing but a perfectly see-through, far too short, soft, white gossamer bit of nothing robe. Worn not with the intention to cover a damn thing or even to be provocative.

Because she was Deltan and she didn't do anything, even going from one room to the next, without some sensual sensation involved. It felt good when she walked around in the thing.

Tali stood there, looking calmly over at them. First at Trip, where the Vulcan had him bent over, face nearly driven into the wall, with his arm in some sort of lock. Her fingers snatched into his t-shirt for leverage. He didn't seem hurt so much as irritated.

She looked at the Vulcan then, who returned her gaze blankly. Nothing but a flickering head-to-toe assessment, with a raised eyebrow attached to that communicating…she couldn't quite be sure what. Nothing positive at least.

Tali returned her attention to Trip.

"Trip, what is going on here?"

Trip huffed…and she saw him strain slightly, pulling carefully against the hand grasping his t-shirt for a moment. Then easing up again a second later…snatching suddenly against the grip just at it relaxed a bit itself, instinctively seeking to readjust its hold on the shirt.

He was free, one foot already snuck around the Vulcan woman's leg, little more than a casual nudge suddenly sending her off her feet to land on her butt in the middle of the living room floor.

That was humorous at least, if not exactly answering her question.

"Tali," He said, massaging his shoulder where the Vulcan had abused him. "This is T'Pol. T'Pol, Tali, my girlfriend."

Tali blinked, sparing the Vulcan woman on the floor only a second glance at that.

"Your sister?" She asked, surprised.

"Yeah," Trip said. "Or nanny. Babysitter. Martial arts instructor. Crazy lady who breaks in and dislocates my shoulder occasionally. Take your pick."

T'Pol took to her feet again, showing no other reaction to having been knocked down so rudely than a disapproving glance at the floor and an absent two-handed swipe at her butt. To dislodge whatever filth she imagined she'd picked up from down there, apparently.

So he didn't keep a spotless dorm or anything. He'd been busy.

He frowned at her once she deigned to acknowledge his existence again. Sparing Tali another frosty, disapproving assessment before doing that, of course.

"Sister?" She asked, once she faced him again. With the eyebrow.

"What else am I supposed to call you?" Trip groused, stretching his neck and rolling his shoulder a bit.

T'Pol dropped the eyebrow then. Because, yeah, right. She didn't know either.

"We have to talk." She said.

Trip brushed his t-shirt back into place a bit and nodded back at her.

"No we don't." He said, turning back to the kitchen to leave, with a vague gesture toward the door. "Door's right there."

He left the room. Back through the kitchen to the bedroom, where he knew perfectly well she would not follow. Not with the Deltan there to witness such familiar behavior.

"Your father is missing." T'Pol called after him.

"Don't give a particular damn." He called back.

T'Pol paused, considering that. But she was well accustomed to this general response from Trip. She knew how to handle it.

The Deltan was staring at her though.

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you." She said.

T'Pol stared back.

"I'm sure it will pass." She said.

And turned away to the couch, taking a seat and making herself comfortable.

"Inform him that I will wait here until he is prepared to interact in a more mature manner." She said. "However long that may take."

Tali looked uncertainly between the strange Vulcan woman and the doorway to the bedroom, where Trip had retreated.

"We will probably have sex in a moment." She said. Both because it was true and because she was fairly sure that would dissuade a Vulcan from hanging around where she already wasn't wanted.

T'Pol just stared back at her, propping her black leather booted feet on the coffee table. Casually and comfortably.

"I'll wait." She said, coldly.


	5. In The Cockroach

It took nearly an hour before Trip was forced to comply. Not exactly embracing logic so much as succumbing to frustration.

Which, perhaps, could arguably be said to be the Human equivalent of that.

The sounds of escalating intimacy from the bedroom, quiet murmurings of discussion that T'Pol couldn't quite overhear, the heated argument that followed which she clearly could…

He appeared in the kitchen, practically _stomping _into the living room in a huff, at least fully dressed now minus the boots. Those he had in hand and he plopped himself angrily on the seat in the corner to yank them onto his feet, still not looking at her.

Not until he had his boots on and he was truly fully dressed, even if his hair remained in disarray. And even then he glared.

T'Pol didn't wait for him to snap at her, she was already at the door to the dorm room waiting for him to follow her out.

And he was at least proper enough to wait until they were in the elevator, alone, with the doors closed, before snapping at her.

"Well, thanks." He seethed. "Now I've got a pissed off Deltan to deal with all weekend. Really appreciate that, T'Pol."

"And I am responsible for her displeasure with you?"

"She doesn't seem to get how I might not be comfortable having…being intimate with my…with people right in the next room." He said. "And apparently seeing some Vulcan woman manhandling me in the living room turned her…got her…excited."

T'Pol busily examined _that _entire statement.

"It's curious how many things you had difficulty saying all at once."

"Well, it's three in the damned morning." Trip snapped.

"If you had answered the comm we could have discussed this matter already." T'Pol suggested. "Perhaps over hoagies at Carmello's diner, in a more comfortable setting."

He stared at her, surprised. Before...

"_Carmello's?" _He demanded suddenly. "Have you been watching me, T'Pol? I swear, if you've had me under _surveillance _this whole time…"

"I merely questioned some of your associates to determine the most productive method of attempting to contact you, other than calling which had already proven ineffective." T'Pol argued. "Or accosting you between classes, when you would not have had time…"

"Ringing the damned bell being out of the question, right?"

"I attempted that twice."

Trip still seethed.

"And you talked to my _friends?" _He asked.

"Several." She said. "They were very helpful. Not enough, it would seem, that I was able to actually make contact in any way…"

"It didn't occur to you that I just didn't have time?" Trip snapped again. "Maybe I'm a little busy these days?"

"Yes, you have been remarkably busy with the Deltan since 1800 hours yesterday."

"Tali." Trip insisted. "Her name is _Tali_, T'Pol."

"I'm well aware. You mentioned it loudly on several occasions during the last nine hours. I'm sure everyone in the building now knows her name. I was able to make it out clearly from the parking lot myself the first time…"

"Okay, you know what? That's none of your damned business."

"Indeed, it is not. Nor is it especially important…"

"And I can't believe you're even mentioning it, considering. That's not exactly proper Vulcan behavior, T'Pol."

"…nor is it especially important." T'Pol repeated. "There is the matter of your father, however, which is."

The elevator arrived at the ground floor and she exited before he could respond to that.

Three in the morning or not, there were cadets in the lobby. Just a few scattered in small groups of two or three, most returning from weekend outings or passing through in the process of such. So Trip waited until they were outside in the parking lot before picking up the argument again.

"So, what?" He demanded. "What's going on?"

She continued walking, forcing him to follow across the parking lot.

"Your father has been missing for eight days." She said.

"Hunting or just off drinking himself stupid?"

"Hunting, of course." She said. "Otherwise I would already know where he was and I would not be here."

"And? Why _are _you here?"

T'Pol stopped, facing him then.

"Trip, obviously I require your help finding him." She said. "That is why I'm here."

Trip actually looked surprised at that. So he arched an eyebrow at him, to communicate he was being unacceptably slow in keeping up with things.

"What the hell do you need _my _help for?" Trip finally asked, frowning.

And now _she _was surprised.

"He's your father."

Trip just frowned. What kind of answer was _that?_

"Well, that's a stunning revelation, T'Pol. I never knew that. I thought he was just some angry drunk that dragged me all over the universe…"

She stepped into him suddenly. Squaring off, right in his face.

"Trip," She said, firmly. "I realize you harbor resentments you feel the need to verbalize, but do you truly believe it is productive to do so _now?"_

He glared at her, his jaw tense. Standing his ground.

And she glared back, insisting the point be acknowledged.

"Fine." Trip said, tightly. "What do you need?"

T'Pol looked him in the eye for a moment longer. Then nodded.

And stepped away again, leading him over to the vehicle they'd already practically arrived at…

"Oh, my God." Trip said, suddenly having realized where she was leading him. "Are you still driving that thing?"

T'Pol glanced back from where she stood, preparing to open the rear door. Then turned again to assess the cargo bug itself.

"Of course." She said. "It is reliable, power efficient, fully customized…"

"It looks like a big, fat cockroach."

T'Pol considered the vehicle again.

"More like a beetle, perhaps." She denied. "But it is non-descript and blends in with civilian traffic."

"I hate it. I've always hated it. You could at least repaint the thing…"

"Black is unexceptional." T'Pol argued. "Easily overlooked…"

"A big, black cargo bug doesn't blend in, T'Pol. Serial killers drive big, black cargo bugs. And child predators. And government agencies conducting surveillance…"

T'Pol was glaring at him.

"I'm just saying!" He said, hands spread wide.

She opened the rear door, ignoring him long enough to glance around the parking lot, to be sure there was no one around to see or overhear. Reaching and popping the hidden latch, pushing back the floorboard in the rear cargo area to reveal the rather large cache within.

Trip couldn't help but step up for a look. Maybe it was guy thing but a trunk full of weapons tended to get his attention. It deserved some measure of appreciation.

She practically had one of everything in there. Plasma pistols and rifle, MACO pulse rifle, an actual Starfleet issued phase pistol over there…binary propellant ballistic shotguns, two of them, a couple of compound fiberglass bows, even an old magnum revolver he had to wonder where in the galaxy she got ammo for…machetes, an axe, 'nerve cracker' stun baton, a broken spear of some sort…quite a few Vulcan hand-to-hand weapons had been added to the collection since he'd last seen it…

An easy dozen boxes of various sized ammo and power cells aligned perfectly to one side, a variety of detachable scopes of all kinds laid out on a board where they could be chosen from quickly, two full backpacks loaded and ready to go, a third containing obvious rock climbing gear, three polyalloy armored field jackets, another concealable version worn under the shirt as a vest, two actual laptop PADDS he couldn't imagine what she had the need for, a customized scanner sitting in a charger, field medkit, a collapsible tent, a sealed bucket of salt, another of rock salt, a third of shaved iron, two metal tool boxes…

Good grief, the collection had _doubled _since the last time he'd seen it. And he'd never seen the gear actually _organized _before either. It was a little stunning.

T'Pol simply reached in and retrieved one of the laptop PADDS, preparing to close the cache and the trunk again when she saw the look on his face.

"What?" T'Pol asked.

"You organized the trunk." Trip said, amazed.

She glanced over the gear.

"Of course. It is much more accessible now…"

"What's that?"

"That is a psychic resonator."

"I thought those were all destroyed a long time ago."

"It is hand crafted. A recent acquisition through contacts on Vulcan…"

"It works?"

"It does, though this model is not as powerful as ancient versions. Much of the technology has been lost…"

"And you can shoot it?"

"Not…effectively. Vulcans are no longer capable of the psychic power available to the mind lords of the past…"

"What's that?"

"That is a sonic pistol. Useful against corporeal targets as a ranged stun weapon, when a phased pulse is not effective."

"Is that a universal translator over there?"

"Yes."

"How'd you get hold of one of those? They're restricted…"

"I stole it."

"What's that?"

"A portable motion sensor. It has a range of twenty meters in the open, five to ten in an interior or urban environment. This one has been tuned to detect electromagnetic distortions as well."

Trip was silent for a moment, so she watched him looking over the gear…

"Okay, never mind. I take it back, T'Pol. I love the cockroach."

T'Pol's eyes were lit with amusement now, and he saw that when he glanced over at her gazing at him that way.

He couldn't help but grin back, a little shyly.

Until he remembered he was angry and bitter and stopped that.

* * *

Trip sat in the passenger seat of the cargo bug, laptop PADD living up to its name, laying in his lap as he pored over the small collection of news articles and background research on the farmhouse.

He had to stop and ask about halfway through his reading, though.

"What's with the laptop portable?" He asked, mystified.

T'Pol sat patiently in the driver's seat, checking messages on her standard, pocket-sized PetPADD.

"Greater processing power and memory. I store my database there."

"What, like a hunter's journal?"

"Yes. While a hardcopy, handwritten collection of unorganized notations and poorly rendered illustrations is quaint, I find an actual database to be more efficient. I suppose I am odd in that way."

Trip snickered, despite himself.

But, yeah, he was going to take a minute to peek at her database, if the opportunity presented itself. A laptop could hold a couple of terabytes easily. She probably had a complete, detailed, hundred thousand page encyclopedia in there. With pics and video.

"Okay, so dad was checking out this farmhouse." Trip said, returning his attention the source material. "Some serial killer operated out of there a hundred years ago or so…then some father goes nuts, kills his whole family and hangs himself in the attic just a _few _years ago…your typical poltergeist activity since then, a few little girl ghost sightings, a lot of stuff that's obvious crap…then some guy gets tossed into a hay baler. Am I missing anything?"

"A hitchhiker skinned alive in the corn field…" T'Pol prompted.

"Right, I'm not forgetting that." Trip nodded. "They didn't find him until after the hay baler guy, but he was the _first _victim. And if there's two then there could be one or two more that haven't been discovered yet."

"That essentially covers it then."

"Except that I'm having a hard time buying a little girl poltergeist actually skinning somebody alive." Trip frowned. "Tossing some guy in a hay baler, maybe, but taking the time to torture someone to death like that doesn't fit the profile."

"Hence your father's interest."

"Begs another question though, T'Pol." Trip said, turning to her. "What was dad doing hunting on Earth? We haven't done anything local in a good, long time."

T'Pol surprised him at first by proving hesitant to answer.

"What?" He pounced.

"Trip…your father has been hunting exclusively on Earth for the past five years."

"What? Why?"

She just looked at him…oddly.

Trip grimaced.

"Okay, don't even try that." He said.

"Trip, he was reluctant to leave Earth since you left."

"Yeah, sure."

"I am not attempting to speculate on why and he consistently refused to discuss it, but it is obvious nonetheless."

"T'Pol," Trip said, harshly. "Maybe you missed the last little chat me and dad had…"

"I did not. I recall it vividly."

"Then you know that's a bunch of crap." Trip insisted. "I don't believe for a second that he hung around Earth because of me. I'm having a hard time believing he stayed on Earth at all."

"Whether you believe it or not is irrelevant to the fact. He avoided or flatly refused pursuing extraterrestrial incidents, even those within the solar system."

Trip turned his attention back to the laptop and the material there, grinding his teeth already…but it didn't hold his attention for long. Or at all.

"And you were here with him." He said. "So you'd know, right?"

"I was here on Earth for the past five years as well, yes."

"So he stuck around and hunted here exclusively so he could keep tabs on me."

"I presume so."

"And never bothered to call or text or come around for Sunday dinner. In five years. Because _that _makes a lot of sense, doesn't it?"

T'Pol was growing irritated, he could see, but she just gave him the eyebrow and a little glare.

"That surprises you, Trip?" She asked, coldly.

"Shouldn't it?" Trip challenged. "Guess how many young cadets didn't have their _father _show up at their first year basic training graduation ceremony, T'Pol?"

"Three." T'Pol said, succinctly.

That…okay, that surprised him…

"How did you…?" He started. Then it hit him. "You were there."

"Of course."

"But he wasn't." Trip pressed, immediately.

Because, no, he really did _not _want to deal with the realization that she'd come to see him graduate. And that he hadn't seen her there and hadn't known that this whole damned time.

"No, he was unable to…"

"Yeah, so case in point." Trip said, angrily.

T'Pol was getting a little angry, too, he noticed.

And good. Fine.

Just perfect.

"So don't give me that crap and don't play that game with me, T'Pol." Trip insisted. "Don't sit there and pretend he gave a damn or that he stuck around because of me. He was _glad _to see me go…"

T'Pol bit right back without a moment's hesitation.

Speaking rather harshly.

"Considering the difficulties I faced contacting you myself over the last three days, I find it does not surprise me that he did not contact you. And knowing your father as well as you do, all the less so. Perhaps he did make the attempt, as I did, and failed, as I did. Because, of course, had he succeeded in contacting you, that would rob you of the opportunity to resentfully complain that he has not done so."

That made him a little more angry. That provoked his bitterness a bit.

So he said something he otherwise would never in a million years have had the nerve to say.

"So I take it you two never bonded, then." He said, bitterly. "You'd already know where he is and if he's trouble. Sure as hell wouldn't need me…"

He managed to shut the hell up right about then. Not that it mattered.

T'Pol stared. Hard.

Stiff, even outright rigid all of a stark sudden. And if ever a Vulcan obviously suppressed a wide variety of alarming impulses, Trip found himself looking at one doing so just then.

Just a couple of feet away from him. In an enclosed space.

Probably…shouldn't have said that.

"No." T'Pol said tightly. "We never bonded."

"Okay." He said, simply.

Shutting the hell up immediately after. And never mind the half dozen impulses _he _suppressed then, most of them having to do with pressing that big red button he'd just uncovered until the universe went right on ahead and exploded.

Damn, that was appealing as hell all of a sudden, even as morbidly insane a thing that would be to do right now.

T'Pol looked away, out the driver's side window…still tense…

Or, okay, _furious_…

And _now _he felt bad. Feeling like a fool immediately thereafter for _feeling _bad. Then feeling a dozen other things all in rapid succession until he had to face the fact.

He shouldn't be here with her.

Shouldn't be sitting in this bug with her.

Should have called just Starfleet security to come and remove her from the dorm _before _sitting here with her like this even became a possibility.

Yet here he was.

Because he was a damned fool.

So he had to end this. Get the hell away from her. Go back to Tali and spend the rest of the weekend letting…_this _wear off and stop happening to him…

"Trip," She said, quietly.

And, damn it.

Here it comes. The reason why…the predominant, paramount and prime reason among all others…that he should _not _be sitting here in this damned bug with her.

"I am…pleading with you now." She said, turning away from the window. Not looking at him just yet, looking down at something, somewhere on the floorboard down there…

"I need your help." She said, meekly. "There are few people that can help and none but you that I trust to do so."

Well.

Wonderful.

Trip dug deep and found the most profane, most crude and most obscene single word among every word in every language that he was aware of. And he viciously cursed the universe and everything in it with that word. Loudly and strongly, if only entirely within the confines of his mind.

And if T'Pol somehow managed to get an echo of that where she sat over there looking so perfectly humble all of a damned sudden…

_Fine._

Trip slapped the laptop shut. And he sighed bitterly, leaning one elbow on the door beside him. Propping his forehead into that hand and closing his eyes tight for a moment.

Just letting this moment go right ahead and suck as mercilessly as it was going to.

"T'Pol," He said, after that moment. "You really think if I go with you on this one, that we'll get any damned thing done before we kill each other?"

She didn't answer all that quickly. Or for several seconds in fact.

But she was a meek and quiet as ever when she did.

"I can only hope so." She said, softly.


	6. Arkali

Tali was Deltan, so she was entirely unaffected and indifferent to his leaving for three days with the non-biologically related pseudo-sibling who'd assaulted him in the living room only an hour before.

Unaffected and indifferent on the surface, at least. She made her position and her concerns quite clear with her words and from where T'Pol stood, waiting patiently in the living room, that was all that was required.

Not that she required that. She would prefer not to overhear any of this. But as there existed the slim possibility that the Deltan might dissuade Trip from accompanying her as he'd agreed to…it was logical to remain on hand, ready to intervene, should that occur.

So T'Pol found herself in the unique position of behaving both logically and inappropriately at the same time. Listening carefully to a conversation occurring in another room which she was clearly _not _intended or expected to overhear.

"Trip, you have never had anything positive to say about either of them before. Yet now you are taking emergency leave on the eve of semester finals, to go with _her_. And you haven't said where you are going or why."

"Just three days, Tali. I'll be back in three days. That's not that long."

"I'm concerned, Trip. I'm very worried."

"Darlin'…everything's fine. I promise."

"No, it isn't. If everything were fine you would not be going. What has happened to your father, that you feel you have to do this?"

"Tali, it's probably nothing. He's gone off on a drunk and got himself into some kind of trouble. Probably sitting in a holding cell in some Podunk town…"

"That would take longer than three days to resolve. It would take longer than three days even to find him."

"Well, we've gotten pretty good at this sort of thing…"

"You are an adult now. You should not have to suffer this sort of thing for your father's sake."

"Yeah, I…I know that, but…Tali, I have to…"

"I know. But I'm concerned and very worried."

"I'll be back. I promise."

"Promise me again."

"I promise, Tali. I'll be back and everything will be fine."

"Alright. But I won't wait for you longer than three days."

"Well…I kinda figured that."

"Any longer and I will find other men to please me. You should hope that I do not find one more compatible than you are."

"I'll be back, Tali. In three days."

"Fine."

"I love you, Ta-…"

"No, you don't."

"I _do_."

"Tell me that in three days."

"I will, I promise."

"And _show _me in three days. I won't wait any longer than that."

"Alright, I _get _it."

"Good. Take your bags and leave me alone now, so I can cry."

"Tali, darlin', don't be like that…"

"You should suffer. I hope that you do while you're gone. I will suffer and it won't be fair if you don't too."

"I will…"

"No, you won't."

T'Pol stopped listening. At least not actively and intently. She picked up on a few interesting bits over the next few minutes, but nothing threatening that he may have changed his mind or been unduly manipulated into doing so.

So she waited.

And he emerged from the bedroom…eventually. Looking emotionally drained, as she expected he would.

Tali herself apparently not quite so emotionally drained as to prevent a very obvious moment of intense glaring through the doorway before she closed it firmly.

Glaring at _her_, of course, right up until the moment the door closed.

T'Pol found herself utterly failing to experience any remorse or sympathy at that.

"What a remarkable young woman, Trip." She said, flatly.

To her mild amusement, it took him a moment to realize she spoke sarcastically.

He frowned. "She actually _is_, T'Pol."

"Yes, of course." She agreed. "And at least if we are delayed beyond three days, we will have the comfort of knowing that the remaining cadets of this class will all have the opportunity to experience that…"

"I've got a great idea. Let's not talk about that."

"Very well." T'Pol agreed. "She's very bald."

Trip sighed.

"Just…part of her charm."

"One of many charming aspects, I'm certain. I'm very relieved, Trip. I had worried initially that when you left to attend 'Starfleet' that you might fall into the clutches of some promiscuous, controlling and sexually manipulative form of personality disorder. I'm very relieved to see you've found yourself a Deltan girlfriend instead…"

"Okay, are you ready to go? Because I'm ready to go."

"I am."

"So let's go."

* * *

Trip was tired, of course, having unwisely elected to spend the vast majority of the time he would otherwise have slept being intimate with the Deltan instead.

He'd clearly had little sleep in the past twenty four hours and this showed immediately. He became groggy and listless before they even crossed San Rafael Bay.

He was asleep in the passenger seat by the time they took the 580 East out of Hayward.

But nonetheless, and somewhat encouragingly, they managed to engage in one conversation during that relatively short period of time. One conversation that could easily have become a heated and bitter argument.

And yet, surprisingly, they avoided that somehow.

Not a comfortable discussion nor lacking in disagreement at all…but at least not overly bitter or resentful.

"I found your decision to participate in officer candidate training curious." She said, as they drove through Hayward.

"I don't know why." Trip said, curious himself. "Always wanted to be a starship captain. You gotta to be an officer to captain a ship, T'Pol."

"Your father always encouraged you to pursue engineering related fields of study…"

"Well, dad didn't enroll in STC." He said. "I did. And they have engineers in Starfleet, you know."

"I am aware of that. Yet you chose to pursue a command position."

"Seemed the logical thing to do, I guess."

"Why is that? I would have assumed…"

"Why all the questions?" Trip asked suddenly.

"I am trying to understand your decision to join Starfleet." She explained. "You have expressed your disagreement with traveling in space many times. Yet you chose a career dedicated to precisely that."

"I never had a problem with exploring the galaxy." He said. "It's where we went and what we did there."

"Hunting, you mean."

"Yeah."

She was quiet for a time, considering that. And everything it suggested.

"You resent being forced into this life." She decided. "You feel your efforts would be better served pursuing other accomplishments."

Trip sighed.

"Accomplishments? We ran around in the dark, looking for things normal, well adjusted people were smart enough to just pretend don't exist. And we slaughtered them when we found them."

"Ravenous beasts and murderous forces of evil, Trip. Things best responded to with violent opposition. Unnatural creatures that…"

"You know, if ran that crap through the universal translator, my dad's voice would pop out the other end. That's you Vulcanizing those same old tired lines of his."

"These are my own words."

"No, I don't think they are."

"Trip," She said, speaking clearly now. "You resent being forced into this life. But you refuse to recognize it was not your father that forced it on you."

"The green eyed demon." Trip said, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, I really want to hear _that _story again. By all means, go right ahead. I was almost at the point where I stopped having nightmares about it and we can't have _that_, can we?"

"It is not my intent to provoke you to nightmares, Trip. And again, I am not the one who has done this."

"I joined Starfleet to get away from all of this, T'Pol. Maybe I can't ever have a normal life, but I can have one that means something."

"That is precisely the issue. You joined Starfleet as an act of rebellion against your father."

Trip practically snorted in amazement at that.

And he laughed a bit.

"T'Pol…I'm twenty-three years old. I stopped being a rebellious teenager when I stopped being a teenager."

"Trip…"

"I joined Starfleet because it's what I _wanted _to do. It's the first thing I've ever done just because it's what _I _decided to. Sat down, really thought it over and decided I should do it."

T'Pol shook her head a little, denying that.

"You did this to betray your father, Trip. And I do not accuse you in saying that. I am merely concerned that, now that you are on your own, you are making life decisions based on _that_, rather than anything that could be called logical. You chose your path in order to flee away, not to move forward."

Trip stewed in that judgment for a bit.

"To betray my father." He repeated, to be clear on that point.

"Yes, Trip. I believe…"

"Maybe you're right." He said. "Maybe that was part of it. But he betrayed me first, T'Pol. I don't know why you keep expecting me to be…blindly loyal to him."

"He is your father."

"Blindly loyal." He repeated. "Like _you _are."

T'Pol breathed deeply, allowing that to pass unchallenged.

Until she didn't and challenged it anyway.

"I owe him a great deal."

"You don't owe him anything."

"You're wrong and you don't know…"

"Whatever this is that you have for my dad…or have _with _him…whatever…I don't have anything like that, T'Pol. He's just a man to me. He's my father, yeah, but I'm a grown man myself. He's not my standard anymore."

"I do not suggest he should be."

"Yes, you do. Of course you do." Trip argued. "If you had your way I'd be back out in space, hitching rides on tramp freighters, _looking _for things that'd love nothing more than to torture me to death. So that I can cut their heads off, or stab them in the heart, or burn their bones in some old grave at midnight…that's dad, T'Pol. That's not me."

T'Pol spoke softly then, surprising him.

"I do not want you to become your father, Trip." She said. "That is not what I want for you. It has never been what I wanted."

"No, I bet it isn't."

T'Pol searched for some meaning in that. Finding none that made sense…

"What is that supposed to mean?" She asked.

He didn't answer for a while, but she sensed he was considering how best to do so.

So she exercised patience and waited.

"I'm twenty-three years old and everybody still calls me 'Trip'." He said. "And not just because it's a funny little thing to call me. The third, triple, Trip. They call me that because that's what I call myself. _Nobody _calls me Charles, because I don't want to _be _Charles Tucker. I'm _not _Charles Tucker, T'Pol."

"I have already said, I don't want you to be Charles Tucker."

"If Trip isn't good enough for you, then that's just tough. One Charles Tucker is enough. The world doesn't need two of them. Probably doesn't even need the one."

T'Pol…suppressed the outrage that statement provoked.

Partly suppressed it.

"That is _not _fair." She insisted. "Your father has accomplished great things. He has saved many lives, more than can be counted. The galaxy is a better and safer place because of him."

"It'll be a better and safer place because of Captain Tucker, too. Because of _Trip_. I don't have to follow in my father's footsteps to be a good man. To be a _great _man, even. If I can do that at all, then I can do it on my own. In my _own _way."

T'Pol almost flailed her discouragement at that. That she couldn't seem to make him understand…

"Trip…_that _is what I want for you." She said. "Not to be a hunter. Not to be the captain of a starship. Not to be anything but a good man and to make the world a better place for having you."

"Then what am I doing here, T'Pol?" He challenged. "Why am I going off to hunt with you, right now?"

"Because your father needs us. And don't change the subject. You chose to join Starfleet not to become a great man but because it was the thing most removed from the life you fled. It was not a logically arrived upon decision and that is why I cannot agree with it."

"Well, I'm sorry you can't see the logic in the decisions I've made with my life, but that's probably because there isn't all that much logic in them. I'm Human, not Vulcan, and we don't logic every little thing to death."

"I have become acutely aware of that over the years, Trip."

"The decision was mine, I made it and I stand by it. That should be the end of the discussion right there, T'Pol. That _should _be all you need to know. Do you at least know that much?"

She hesitated, grinding that bitterly between her teeth a little.

But…yes…

"Yes. I believe that much is true."

Trip nodded.

"Okay. So just be happy I made a decision about my life, as a man, and that I'm following through with that, as a man. Because I believe it's the right thing to do, not because I'm driven or obsessed or…"

"Like your father and I."

Trip sighed.

"Yeah." He said. "So, no, I bet you _don't _want me to be like my father, at least not in that way. And I bet you'd rather not have _two _Charles Tuckers in your life. So please just try to be happy…or, as a Vulcan, at least _satisfied_…that I'm not."

"I am, Trip." She said, softly.

"Good."

They were quiet for a time, each lost in their thoughts. Enjoying the novel experience of _not _ending an argument in anger and bitterness, as much as such a thing could be enjoyed.

And T'Pol almost undid all of it, even if not fully being aware of how or why. She almost did, but by some miracle, that managed not to happen.

Because she felt she understood him now. Understood at least the reasons for his decision to leave. To join Starfleet.

To abandon them.

She didn't understand fully, however.

And encouraged by her apparent success on that point, she immediately sought some measure of resolution on another. Perhaps emboldened too much by an entirely too rare sense of understanding Trip.

"Trip," She said, before he could finish making himself comfortable in the passenger seat.

Before he could stop fighting the fatigue that had crept up on him during the last hour and give himself over to sleep.

"I regret that I came between you and your father." She said, quietly. "That was never my intention. There have been many things that have happened that I did not intend, but that is the most regrettable to me."

She didn't fully understand his reasons for leaving them, despite believing now that she finally did. So she didn't fully understand his response to that, taking it at face value instead.

"This may come as a shock," He said. "But not everything in my life revolves around you."

And, of course, that was perfectly logical. And it was a great relief to hear.

"I understand." She said.

And she believed that she did.

But she did not.

* * *

It was 0900 when they left Bakersfield behind and took Interstate 15 North, beginning the long leg towards Las Vegas. From there to travel on to the Utah border and the farmhouse that awaited them off the interstate south of Bloomington Hills.

Trip still slept and it was then that he began to dream.

T'Pol only noticed after a while and only because she'd enjoyed his presence there with her. Enjoyed watching him sleep peacefully beside her as she drove.

Enjoyed it and so, often enough, allowed the cargo bug's autopilot to navigate while she watched him sleep for a while.

It was curious and intriguing, wondering what he dreamed about. Watching his eyes flicker behind his eyelids and the tell-tale signs of REM sleep. But he grew restless quickly…

Even whimpering lightly at one point.

And that alarmed her.

It should not have, perhaps. Charles Senior was plagued with nightmares while he slept, she knew well enough. And Trip had always suffered the same. Most Human hunters did, she'd come to assume.

Her own meditations were often…disturbed, if she were not appropriately mindful. And on the rare occasion when she was unwise enough to forgo mediation, or unfortunate enough that she was unable to meditate at all, she suffered much the same herself.

But it remained distressing enough to see Trip suffer it now. Especially now when she believed she understood that he'd left not merely to be free of the hunter's life, and not merely to flee his father. That he'd done so to seek his own path to being a man.

That seemed good to her, so his suffering this thing even still…that she found offensive. Unacceptable.

And it grieved her.

So she did something she otherwise would never have. Something she otherwise would have found distasteful.

She reached carefully over to touch him, to touch his face as he slept.

Extremely inappropriate, of course, and shameful to no small degree. But she touched his face and found the contact points there.

Allowing herself to merge with him…only a little. Not intruding, not touching his _katra _or his mind. Merely allowing her presence to…be there. To send her comfort, to be there for him, so that he could draw upon her to ease the distress of the nightmare that plagued him.

A strange thing happened and something she could not understand.

Her presence…distressed him all the more. His _katra _vacillating almost wildly between seeking to draw close to her, which was surprising enough itself, and recoiling in panic, which was all the more so.

He was conflicted and to an alarming degree.

She was repelled by his mind…and drawn in at the same time. Otherwise impossible and illogical, but in the realm of dreams the rules were somewhat different. He pushed her away and drew her closer, all at once, where her presence should have provoked neither reaction.

But he grew all the more distressed that she was there, and that was the critical point.

So she withdrew, confused and reluctant.

Not quite quickly enough to avoid the dark border of the dream, but enough that she was not drawn into it, which judging from his reaction so far would not at all have allowed her to help him.

She withdrew carefully and took her touch away from him, leaving him to face the nightmare on his own.

Having touched the border of the dark dream only just enough to draw the one simple impression of it away with her.

Arkali.

That word, that impression, had flittered aimlessly at the border, unable to enter and offer itself to him.

And she knew why then, as she stared down at him where he fitfully slept and whimpered.

In the dream he could not remember the name of the world where the events he relived had taken place.

Arkali, where she'd suffered her third _pon'farr_. Where she'd satisfied that overwhelming, burning need in combat, with the violent death of the _tamori _they'd captured. And where the young Trip had been pursued through the woods, bursting through the door, to come upon her then and witness that thing.

That is what he dreamed of. And that is why her presence distressed him so.


	7. Hadley Farm

**Hadley Farm**  
**Highway 15**  
**Outside Bloomington Hills, Utah**

It was hot as hell. What the heck it was doing being _this _hot in April, Jack couldn't figure.

It should be raining. It should be hot _and _raining, at least. Of course that'd make the job just as miserable but…

Well, okay, it'd still suck. But the fact remained, _this _sucked.

Jack tugged the thick work gloves a little tighter onto his hands and went back to work. Grabbing the old sledgehammer he'd found out in the tool shed and busily knocking the legs off the old table before tossing it aside and piling them up in his arms.

It was just a temp job. Just a few days work at the most, so there really wasn't anything else for it but to slog through and get it done. Welfare stamps were great and all, he was real glad to have them, but Jenny had gotten good and tired of beans and rice a while back. It was a short little list of what you could buy with them things and you didn't get no steak and pizza on welfare stamps. Didn't go out to dinner at no fancy restaurants on welfare stamps, that's for sure.

If he didn't a real job soon…probably wouldn't have no Jenny neither.

So he went back to work. Went back hard, because if he busted his ass here and really showed he knew how to work…that he _liked _to work, however much he really didn't right now…maybe that mean old bastard would decide he needed another hand on his regular crew.

That's what they were all here for. He, Carl and Verne. This was one of them jobs you sat back at the temp office every morning hoping would get tossed in your lap that day. One of them where you heard other guys had gone and busted their asses on, then went on and got themselves hired. Like a permanent job.

Hell, he could do _this _for living. It was hard and it sucked…but it was pretty simple. You busted stuff up and tossed it in a dumpster or on the back of a truck. Picked up, swept up, moved stuff around. Gopher work. Go for this, go for that.

He wouldn't even mind it, would probably kind of enjoy it…if it wasn't so damned hot.

Get on the crew, do the cleanup work for a while. Maybe get a chance to learn how to operate some of the big machinery. Maybe drive the truck a bit. Eventually…move up some and make a little _more _money.

You never know. Didn't hurt to be a little ambitious and think ahead some.

He passed Carl on the way out the front door, coming into the house himself, looking for something to look real busy busting his ass doing.

Jack just nodded his head back toward the living room.

"Got most of it busted up in there." He said.

Carl just nodded, breathing a little hard and sweating himself, but he stepped aside to let him through the door rather than coming on through himself.

"Might as well slack off a bit." Carl said. "Mr. Keller ran off to town to get something."

Jack nodded as he passed.

"Or we could have the whole bottom floor cleared out when he gets back." He said, grinning back at Carl.

Carl just frowned at the back of his head as he passed, and Jack sort of knew he was doing that, so he chuckled a bit as he hiked his load on out to the dumpster.

"You suck, Jack." Carl said.

Jack chuckled, because Carl needed a job, too. So, yeah, they'd be busting their asses even while the boss was gone, just so they might…maybe, just maybe…score a couple points with him when he got back.

Maybe he'd see they'd busted their asses while Verne was off goofing around.

Jack heaved and tossed the majority of the old table legs, bits of broken wood and scraps of furniture he had piled in his arms. Most of it made it into the dumpster and he bent over, sweaty and tired, to gather up the bits that didn't.

There was a little girl standing over there by the truck when he stood up again though.

Just standing there looking at him funny. Nothing but a nightgown and a beat up old teddy bear cuddled up to her chest.

Jack kinda blinked at that for a second.

"Uh…hey." He said, uncertainly.

And she was off and away before he could figure all that out. Running off between the truck and dumpster without so much as the pitter patter of little feet slapping across the dry, grassy yard…

But she was barefoot and they had all manner of bits and pieces of things scattered around here now, just waiting for the opportunity to cut a little girl's foot from stepping on 'em.

So, there was that.

Some dumb kid who'd wandered over from a neighbor farm because her parents didn't pay her no attention. And now she was gonna step on something and there'd be a commotion.

Jack sighed.

Damn it to all hell.

He stepped over there quick to holler.

"Hey!"

Weren't nothing there. Not both ways neither, when he looked. So she'd run off into the cornfield then, had to have. Maybe run on back home, after running into big, ugly, sweaty guy throwing stuff around. That kinda made sense.

A little funny, actually. So he sort of shrugged it off and turned around to get back to work.

And there were crows.

There were crows…_everywhere_.

He was positioned just exactly right when he turned around to get the whole entire picture from where he stood, so it practically smacked him. Like he'd turned around and someone had socked him right in the face with a pillow, out of nowhere.

They were all over the roof of the porch of the house. All on the roof up there on top of the house as well. All around the edge of the dumpster, all on the truck. On the swing set over there and even on the ground here and there in a few places.

Must have been a thousand of them.

Jack just kinda stared at that.

Scared the crap out of him no little bit and he kinda stood there frozen, trying to figure just how scared he oughta be.

They was just sitting there, looking at him. Every one of them. Didn't hardly move and didn't make no sound.

Them crows didn't like him, though.

They didn't like him not at all, and Jack knew that somehow.

* * *

Carl was doing his level best to get a full armload of the crap Jack had busted up in here. Didn't help that he'd been a little too happy with the sledgehammer and busted up some of the stuff a little more than necessary to pick it up and carry it out easily. He'd have to get a wheelbarrow or something in here for a lot of this.

Hell, a lot of it hadn't even needed to be broken down. If he'd called him in here earlier they could have just double-teamed most of it and hauled it out together. Keller said bust it all down so they didn't overflow the dumpster, seeing as how they paid one flat fee for each load. Best to make one load of it then, but they could have got away with just throwing _some _of this stuff right on in there.

He managed a nice armload to hustle out to the dumpster though, already figuring in his head how long it was going to take to clear out the first floor. How many trips roughly and how hard they'd have to work if they were going to have all or most of it cleared before Keller got back.

Sure be nice if Verne would come pitch in, but if he bothered wasting the couple of minutes it'd take to find him and get him in on things, he'd just end up irritating the hell out of both of them by being such a lazy bastard.

Just get in the damned way and probably even slow them down. So let him just go on with whatever pansy assed little bit of nothing he was off pretending to work at.

Carl almost startled when he turned around, arms full of old, broken wood.

Because there was a little girl standing over there by the stairs. Just standing there in a nightgown, with an old, beat up teddy bear. Standing there staring at the pile of crap Jack had stacked there, either to get it ready to be hauled out or just to get it out of the way.

Carl knew right off somehow that girl was trying to figure out how to get past that so she could go upstairs. Which was weird and a little creepy, because all she had to do was walk _around _it…

"Hey!" Carl said, more than a little surprised.

And…irritable, honestly, because there shouldn't be no little kids running around in here. And somebody needed a whoopin' for wandering around, walking up in houses that didn't belong to them in the first place. Somebody's daddy wasn't real generous with the discipline on one of these farms around here.

The girl didn't even look up. She just kept staring at the junk piled up on the floor, teddy bear clutched to her chest.

And…yeah, that was getting pretty creepy over there.

Carl shivered a little, and it wasn't until then that he noticed the breath plume right in front of his face…it got damned cold in here out of nowhere…

Oh, crap.

He knew what this was. He'd heard the stories. But there wasn't no _way _that was _real_…

Then that middling sized pile of junk on the floor suddenly just exploded, bits and pieces of wood and metal and junk flying every which way…clacking loudly and banging against the floor, ceiling, walls…the wall right by his head, even…

And Carl yelled, almost screamed, despite himself.

Yelled and jerked in surprise, so his own armful of junk went flying. Stumbling back into the wall, thankfully, so he didn't fall right on his ass.

And the girl went right on ahead, bare feet not making the first sound as she hustled on up the stairs…out of sight…

Taking the terrible chill in the air with her…

Carl stared, mind numb.

Then he laughed out loud, more than just a little hysterically. He'd never laughed from both surprise and terror at the same time before. Couldn't say he cared for the experience or how dumb it made him sound.

But he tried to let it be funny. Not scary and terrifying. Funny, so he could laugh and go tell Jack what had just happened. Because that really was a pretty cool thing that had just happened…if it _had _just happened…and it really would make a great story…if he wasn't just imagining the whole thing…

He was having a real hard time not being terrified and pissing himself, though.

* * *

Verne looked back after just a little ways, at first to make sure no one saw him duck off into the cornfield, but then again because…damn, he hadn't hardly walked just ten feet and he already couldn't see the yard.

He actually looked again to be sure he could see the upper half of the house from where he was, because he was suddenly, surprisingly aware of how easy it'd be to get lost out here in the corn without that obvious landmark.

Not lost for long, sure. All you'd have to do is follow whatever row until you reached the edge of the field, but still…it was a little unsettling.

It took him a few seconds to assure himself that he wasn't going to go wandering off in the wrong direction here and spend a half hour making his way back to the yard that wasn't even twenty feet away.

Then he reached and pulled that bad boy out of his front shirt pocket, dug that fancy engraved piezo-electric lighter out of his front pants pocket and put the two to work. Had a nice easy high going in no time. Just a little cough and sputter here and there, but even that was a little funny.

He'd be ready to go back to work in a minute. And maybe the day would go by a lot more breezy now…

Then the little girl with the teddy bear came wandering by, right down the row he was standing in. Kinda figured he was just tripping at first, but he fumbled and snuffed it out anyway.

You didn't go smoking a heater right in front of little kids like that. Maybe that'd be kind of funny, but that wouldn't be right.

She kept right on going, just staring at him for a few seconds as she walked by but that was all.

Creepy assed kid, though.

She was looking for something, he knew, and he ended up following her just a bit before he realized it, kind of curious what she was looking for.

"Hey, kid." Verne said, grinning.

Then he blinked a bit. Because all of a sudden she was standing right in front of him, staring up at him. He was…pretty sure she'd been walking away over _there _just a second ago…

_Damn_, he was high.

"I can't find it." The girl said, sadly.

Verne took a second to catch up with that.

"Huh?" He asked, confused.

"I can't find it." She said again.

"You can't find what?"

The girl just stared at him. Then she held the bear out to him, two-handed, like it was the most solemn and serious thing in the universe.

It was in pretty bad shape, that teddy bear. Missing an eye, foot torn open. Dirty and scruffy looking.

Verne giggled a bit, he couldn't help. This kid was retarded or something.

"You got it right there." He giggled.

The girl opened her mouth wide…and screamed.

She screamed _loud_. Loud enough that he could _feel _it.

_Everything _felt it. Even the stalks of corn all around him felt it, bending and swaying like a huge gust of wind came out of nowhere…

Verne stumbled back, wide-eyed, more than a little startled. She kept right on screaming…and then she screamed a little louder. And then it _hit _him.

Knocked him right on his back in the dirt.

Took him a second to scramble a bit so he could raise his head back up, staring wide eyed and pretty damned scared now. Heart suddenly thumping wildly, his every impulse demanding he _do _something…without being so kind as to specify exactly what the hell.

The girl was…just gone, though. Nothing but the corn swaying stubbornly back to where it had been before all _that _commotion, thank you very much.

Verne's breath was ragged and he could hear the tremble in it. He even whimpered a bit when he tried to get control of it again.

Laying there stiff, staring at where the little girl had just been not half a heartbeat ago. Trying to make sense of what the hell just happened.

Didn't get the chance to, though. Something stepped up right then. Stepped right up behind him, booted feet planted just to either side of his head.

Verne only got a quick look when he tossed his head back. Some kind of dark, wide-brimmed hat on its head. Sunlight behind it so he couldn't see its face. Long, dark trench coat.

It was the sickle, though. When that flashed up in the air, making perfectly clear what it was going to do next, that's what got his attention.

He got off one good scream before it came down.

* * *

It took them a few seconds of talking past one another before each of them finally heard what the other one was saying. Then another couple of seconds trying to get the other to repeat what they'd just said while ignoring them doing the same.

Jack finally decided to just shut up and let Carl babble a bit about whatever the hell…

A ghost kid? _What _ghost kid? No, he never heard about that. What the hell was he talking about?

"You never heard about that?" Carl asked, astounded. "Jack, _everybody's _heard about that…"

Jack huffed, frustrated. "Just…what _about _her?"

"I saw her, man! Right there!"

Carl pointed back through the doorway, into the living room. Somewhere around the foot of the stairs, where all that stuff had been thrown around.

"You didn't see no ghost, Carl!" Jack insisted. "And look, there's crows _all over _the place out there."

"I'm telling you, I saw her! Clear as day, man!"

"Well, whatever! Just, look, let's get inside, alright?!"

Carl was holding him back again, though.

"No, no. Don't go in there, man…!"

"_Get out of my way, Carl!"_

Jack shoved. He _had _to. And Carl finally stumbled back into the house a little, enough at least that he was able to get _inside_.

"Aw, man…" Carl said, wide eyed, staring around him. "Man, we should probably go back outside…"

"Look, I told you! There's crows out there! A million of 'em!"

"Yeah, but…man, I _saw _her! She's for real!"

"Damn it, Carl…!"

Someone screamed.

Outside, somewhere a good ways off. Screamed loud and…there was real terror in that scream.

That shut them both up.

They stilled and the whole world was instantly, perfectly still right along with them.

And absolutely nothing happened for a good, long moment.

"What the hell was that?" Jack asked, quietly.

"Was that…was someone screaming?" Carl asked, nervously. "That wasn't no mountain lion, was it?"

"I don't know…"

They screamed again.

And they went on screaming, over and over.

"Jack, that's Verne! Oh, God, man, that's Verne!"

"_That ain't Verne!"_

"It is, man! Listen!"

Jack listened. He stood there and he trembled, and he listened.

And, yeah, that was Verne out there, screaming like…he was hurt. Out in the cornfield somewhere. Hurt _bad…_

"Okay," Carl said, nervously. "I'm freaking the hell out, man, but we gotta go help him."

"I'm not going out there!" Jack yelled.

"He's hurt, man!"

"There's crows out there!"

"Who cares about some damned crows?!" Carl snapped, getting angry now.

"I told you! They're _everywhere _out there! And they're acting _weird_, Carl!"

Carl was tense, and to hell with being scared or freaked out right now. Verne was hurt and this was just stupid…

"_Damn!" _He growled, and he slammed back out the door, stomping angrily across the porch and down the steps...

And…

Yeah, there were crows all over the place out here.

All over _everything_.

The tool shed, the truck…glancing back in alarm he could see them all over the roof of the porch and up on top of the house…

He decided not to care about that.

There was too much going on all of a sudden, so he decided to focus. Verne was out there screaming somewhere…

Except he wasn't anymore. He'd _stopped _screaming.

But that was worse, so he started stomping across the yard again. Head down, not looking at the crows all over the place. Heading for the truck.

Jack was behind him, following him.

"Carl, what the hell are you doing?! Get back in the house…!"

"I'm going to get Verne, damn it!"

Carl made it to the truck without having to look at the crows, but there were crows on the truck, so he had to ignore them, too.

"Where are you going?!" Jack demanded, damned near freaking out now.

Because Carl was climbing into the truck.

"Going after Verne." Carl said, tightly.

"In the truck?!"

"He's out in the field, man!"

It was obvious, wasn't it? He'd get there _faster _in the truck. And…there were crows out here…

Carl had the door open and Jack had a hold of it.

They were just about to square off over this little issue they were suddenly having.

Then three things happened that were just too much for Carl to handle right then.

The crows all started hissing and cawing, all at once. And it was _loud_. Loud enough to startle both of them, Jack even whimpering about it.

Then Jack suddenly fell down for no reason. Except he didn't fall down, because something grabbed his ankles and yanked them out from under him. Something under the truck.

Carl saw the old, grey gloves on the thing's hands and the long, black sleeves on its arms. And the straw sticking out of the cuffs.

Then Jack screamed, from where he was laying on the ground at Carl's feet, just exactly a split second before the thing yanked him _under _the truck.

Jack was just gone…

Under the truck.

Still screaming, though. Under there, under the truck.

Then the crows all took off, all at once. Still hissing and cawing…

That was all too much for Carl. He started screaming, too. And he ran, back to the house. Back across the yard with the shadows of a million crows already circling in on him. Up the steps and through the front door of the house, gibbering in abject terror by then.

Into the house and gone, running and stumbling blindly for somewhere to hide from everything.

Jack kept screaming out there in the yard and the crows kept circling the house, cawing and hissing while he did.

They circled and cawed and hissed, filling the air with it, for a good long time. Because Jack took a good long time to die.


	8. Crow Feathers

**Murphy's Hydro Station #66  
****Highway 15, Utah**

It was nearly 1700 hours, perhaps three hours until sunset, when Trip finally awoke. A bleary eyed glance out the window revealed the expected hydrogen station, the staple fuel service for rural areas. Not a lot of hover cars outside the cities, after all.

He had to stretch a bit and get out of the bug before he found T'Pol, and he thought at first that she might have gone a little crazy, since she was standing over there at the edge of the small parking lot, talking to herself.

Holding a paper bag in one hand, which somehow made her look even nuttier.

"I'm sorry, but the delay is unavoidable." T'Pol was saying.

To…the open field over there, apparently.

She'd changed clothes somehow, somewhere. Out of the black cargo pants she'd worn before. Same black boots on her feet but wearing actual blue jeans now. Brown denim jacket, which was new, and just short enough to reveal the tucked in rust brown tee shirt beneath it.

Those blue jeans deserved a second appreciative look, though. They fit pretty darned well…

Had to tear his eyes away from _that _right away though, before it got ten shades of weird.

"Yes, I realize that. Nevertheless…" T'Pol continued.

She paused.

"Katherine, this is not an attempt to extort a greater royalty. I was quite forthcoming in establishing early on that there would be times when I would be unable to forward submissions as regularly as I normally do. This is hardly the first time…"

Trip had occasion then to realize he was still wearing the cadet uniform he'd thrown on back at the dorm. Because he hadn't really had any clean civvies to wear…

He was going to stick out like a sore thumb around here. This was Utah, and farm country Utah at that.

T'Pol turned her head then, looking over her shoulder at him, since he must have come to her attention somehow. And he could finally see the comm in her ear, so it was a small relief to find that, no, she hadn't quite gone kookoo just yet.

"I have to go now, Katherine." She said, politely holding up a finger to him. An obvious 'yes, one moment please, Trip' sort of finger.

"Yes, of course." She continued, to whoever she was talking to. "Goodbye."

She turned fully then, walking right up to him while she palmed and pocketed the ear comm. Holding out the bag to him when she arrived.

"I'm sure you're hungry." She said. "I took the liberty of getting something for you."

He took the bag gratefully enough, but his curiosity was already pretty focused.

"Who was that?" He asked, digging into the bag.

And, yeah, his stomach was already starting to growl, before he even had a chance to identify what sort of healthy, well balanced hunk of horror she'd bought him…

He was actually surprised enough by what he pulled out of that bag that he didn't realize she never answered.

"A cheeseburger?" He asked, almost disbelieving.

She propped her eyebrow up at him and gave the object in his hand a cursory examination.

"Yes, it seems to be." She confirmed.

"You bought me a _cheeseburger?"_

She cocked her head to the side a bit at that.

"Is there something _wrong _with the cheeseburger?" She asked, curiously.

"No, I…just…I can't believe you bought me a _cheeseburger."_

T'Pol waited a beat.

"If you require confirmation, then yes, I bought you a cheeseburger." She said, evenly. "That would be the cheeseburger in your hand, in point of fact."

Trip just stared, because…was she picking fun at him or something…?

"Perhaps you should eat the cheeseburger now, Trip." She suggested. "As I understand it, that is generally considered the purpose of a cheeseburger."

Yeah, that was T'Pol's very Vulcan sense of humor at work alright. So he had to snort and chuckle a bit finally.

"Okay, knock it off." He grinned. "I'm just surprised. You never willingly gave me _meat _without having to twist your arm about it first."

Interestingly enough…she actually started _fidgeting _all of a sudden.

"I realize that you are Human." She said, almost uncomfortably. "As such, meat in your diet, in moderation, can be considered healthy."

"Yeah, but it's a _cheeseburger."_

That just made her _more _uncomfortable. So it apparently wasn't funny to her anymore.

"I was…simply trying to be agreeable…" She said.

"Okay, wait." He said, quickly. "Forget it. _Thank you. _I didn't mean to make a big deal about it."

She nodded at that.

Then out of nowhere…

"Did you rest sufficiently?" She asked, as he greedily started unwrapping.

"No, not really." He frowned, already snatching a big bite of the burger.

After giving her a quick glance to confirm that she really _had _just asked him that.

"That's unfortunate." She said, commiserating.

Which…okay, what?

"How long was I out?" He asked, around the very wonderfully unhealthy cheeseburger she'd bought him.

"Eleven hours now." She said, "The farmhouse is only a thirty minute drive from here."

He nodded, taking another bite. Mumbling around it.

"Eleven hour's sleep. Shouldn't be this wore out."

She just stood there, waiting patiently for him to eat the burger he was almost feeling guilty about eating right there in front of her like that.

Almost. Not near enough to do anything as crazy as _not _eat the thing.

"You dreamed." She said. "Restlessly."

"Nightmares?" He asked, well over halfway through now.

She nodded.

He shrugged. Yeah, that'd explain it. And he popped the last bite in there, giving it all the attention it deserved.

Because that was a pretty good burger.

"That was great." He said, appreciatively. "You've got to tag this place in your database. Definitely have to stop here again."

"I'm pleased you enjoyed it." She said, "But do not expect this will become habitual."

He smirked at that. "Didn't think so."

She gestured at the cargo bug near to hand.

"I also purchased several sets of clothing for you." She said, "Casual wear in the style you prefer. I assumed you would be more comfortable out of the Starfleet cadet jumpsuit."

Trip's eyes narrowed now. Because, really?

"Uh…yeah. Thanks, I appreciate that. Where did you…?"

"A market along the highway, three hours ago."

He nodded. Right.

"You can change here, in the public restroom, of course. But if you prefer I can darkened the windows on the road and you make use of the rear passenger area…"

Alright, what the hell?

"Why are you being so nice to me?" He frowned.

He _surprised _her.

Which…that hardly ever happened.

"I am simply trying to be agreeable…"

"Why?" He demanded, suspiciously.

Bam.

Just like that, the temperature dropped.

And maybe 'plummeted' would be a more apt description.

"I can _cease _being agreeable if you prefer." She said, coldly.

And he suddenly realized _why _she was being so nice. The pieces just flew in out from the horizon somewhere and fell into place, so he could see the picture clearly.

He'd had nightmares while he slept. The whole way here, considering how tired he was, despite having slept for nearly eleven hours. So she'd watched him suffer that the whole way here and she felt bad for him.

And now that he was awake, of course he was being a jackass.

So…

Time to change the subject.

"Did you pick up anything else on this place on the way?" He asked. "Any reason why dad didn't wrap this one up himself?"

And he mentally crossed his fingers. It'd been a while, so maybe all the care and handling instructions regarding one T'Pol of Vulcan had changed over the years…

She eased right up. So deflection had apparently been an acceptable response.

"Very little." T'Pol said, eyebrow indicating she found that curious. "I confirmed that the second victim…or, rather, the first…who was skinned alive…he was not discovered until _after _your father arrived here. At least two days later, by my estimations."

"So dad may not have known about that guy."

"That is the point that troubles me." She nodded. "It does represent a disparity between the behavior he would have expected, if he assumed a poltergeist."

Trip shook his head.

"No, I get what you mean, but I don't see dad getting thrown that easy. Whatever's going on out there…if he didn't take care of it, then something else must have come up."

Trip suddenly realized something. Something he should already have, in fact.

"And, wait." He frowned. "Why weren't _you _with him on this one? I didn't think about that before…"

"He did not ask me to accompany him." T'Pol said, simply.

"Why not?"

"I can't say."

Trip stared, working through that one.

"That's a regular thing? Him just going off hunting without you?"

"We have worked independently more often than not over the last three years."

Well, _that _was sure as hell surprising. So he blinked a bit and drew back.

"Wow." He said. "Trouble in paradise?"

T'Pol stiffened up again.

So, yeah, he closed his eyes and frowned at himself. And he was too busy kicking himself over that to cut her off…

"Trip…" She said, evenly.

"Sorry." He said, catching up. "I'm still being an ass, I guess. And I know I really need to get out of that habit. Forget I said anything."

"Trip," She said, more firmly now. "I don't believe that you understand the relationship I have with your father. That I have had with your father."

"Not my business, T'Pol. Just forget about it."

She paused, giving that a moment.

"Arguably, it is." She said. "At least, I am prepared to speak about it, if that is required."

He almost sighed. And no, he didn't want to have this conversation. This conversation or anything remotely resembling it. Kinda rather not be standing here at all right now, actually.

But, hell. He'd pushed her buttons twice already now, maybe even three times with the cheeseburger thing…and she was trying to play nice here…

"Okay, tell me."

T'Pol struggled for a moment.

A long, _long _moment.

"It is…complicated." She said, at last.

So Trip smiled grimly.

"Right." He nodded. "So like I said, just forget about it."

She nodded pretty quickly. And even gave her pat response to that.

"I will try."

* * *

Sunset didn't quite threaten to descend yet by the time they arrived, but it could be sensed somewhere out there beyond things.

T'Pol had to take manual control of the bug again once they left the highway, but she finished up the last of her calls anyway while she drove.

Trip pored over the material she'd gathered on the place, looking for anything they might have missed here. Didn't find anything and nothing new came to mind, so…nothing left but to poke around the place.

He was very interested to have learned the purpose of the _other _laptop PADD in the trunk. That one could hack remotely. Specifically, things like the local police department database, if they parked anywhere near it for a while. They'd definitely be doing that later, so they could get a look at the official police reports and autopsies on the two deaths that had already occurred out here.

The dirt road leading to the farm naturally took the long way around getting there though. So they had plenty of time for one more argument before they arrived.

To make up for having had the audacity to get along with one another earlier, of course.

"I have the hotel." T'Pol announced, pocketing her ear comm and PetPADD.

Trip looked up from the laptop, instantly alert.

"Where dad stayed?" He asked, sharply.

"Yes."

"Then we need to go there." He said, immediately. "Heck with _this _place…"

"He is no longer staying there."

"Yeah, but did he check out?"

"His…room has been reclaimed."

Trip squinted, seeing the obvious there. And wondering why she didn't.

"So he didn't check out and he left stuff behind. And they've got that put up somewhere, so he has to come claim it. So they can get that last day's rent out of him."

"Apparently."

"Then we should definitely go there. Right now."

"Trip…"

"What? What are we doing _here _when…?"

"He may be here."

It took moving another few meters closer to the haunted, probably terrorized, farmhouse before he worked through all the unspoken bits there.

"T'Pol," He said, carefully. "This is dad we're talking about. I doubt some little girl poltergeist in Utah took down Charles Tucker."

"It is possible."

"Anything's possible, but it didn't happen."

"Let's check here first, then go on to the hotel."

"T'Pol…"

"We are already here. We need only confirm the identity of the poltergeist. At worst, salt and burn the bones. And we know the cemetery where the family's remains are buried."

"T'Pol, I'm sure dad already did that much. So if the ghost is still here then we're looking at an anchor. Something _else _holding it here, which could be anything. That's going to take a while to find."

Silence.

And, yes, she'd stiffened right up again.

Which, by now he was getting a little irritated at. Never mind feeling like a bit of a jerk earlier, he was getting fed up walking around on egg shells here.

"I have said I will get you back to your Deltan in three days…" She started in, bitterly.

"That's great. Thanks." He bit back. "But if we start poking around out here, you know what's going to happen. We're gonna get bogged down in this and we won't be able to break away until it's done."

"Which will unfortunately result in your Deltan being obliged…"

"_Tali_, T'Pol. Her goddamned name is Tali."

"_Tali_," T'Pol practically clenched her teeth around. "Being obliged to find a substitute…"

"You know it's amazing how little it takes to make me want to jump out of a moving vehicle." Trip snapped. "I never knew. Thank you for the opportunity to discover this about myself."

"Feel free." She said, flatly.

And _damn_, he almost did.

But, for some unconscionable reason, sitting there fuming is what he did instead. Even if jumping out and breaking his neck on something would have been a whole lot better.

They stewed bitterly for the next couple of minutes until they actually arrived at the place. And by then T'Pol had naturally cooled right down again, which left _him _being the ass here. So he had to put his anger aside, which only made him all the more bitter.

Trip quietly reflected on what a wonderful time they were having and how wise he'd been to avail himself of the opportunity to share quality time with T'Pol again after so many years.

He piled out of the cargo bug once they came to a stop. And never mind the truck parked to one side, the dumpster and the various obvious signs that some kind of construction was under way here. At the least, preparations were being made for something of the sort.

No, what got his attention was the scarecrow out there in the field.

First, because it was absolutely, perfectly creepy as hell. Black, wide brimmed hat that had been out in the weather long enough to be creepy. Big, black trench coat that cast shadows around its form in a creepy manner. Boots that were creepy. Arms stretched out like it had been crucified there, with the ratty gloves and how the straw poked out of it here and there…yeah, pretty creepy, all around.

Second, because he hadn't seen one in a good, long time. And scarecrows were one of the few, very interesting things that you'd expect to find yourself hunting some day…but never did. Despite all natural assumptions to the contrary, they actually were just inanimate objects that happened to have the air of something supernaturally menacing about them without actually being anything of the sort.

They were something of a cherished novelty, when you got right down it. And there was a certain nostalgia to them, in a way only a hunter could probably really appreciate…

"Trip." T'Pol called, jerking his attention away from the thing out there.

She was in the yard, hunkered down to look at something, so he ambled right over to take a gander.

Crow feathers, he realized, once he arrived and crouched down beside her. And glancing around he could see readily enough…they were scattered here and there all over the place. Not a _lot _of them, but enough to be notable.

He glanced back at the scarecrow then.

"Well, somebody hasn't been doing his job." He snorted.

T'Pol spared a glance back at the scarecrow but didn't follow up on that. Which was nice, since the joke would probably fall flat if he tried to explain it to her.

The crow feathers, though…

Trip frowned.

"Guess what crows and poltergeists have in common, T'Pol." He suggested.

"What?" She asked.

"Not a thing."

They stood up again together then, giving the area a slightly more critical appraisal now.

"Perhaps a flock of crows trespassed here and the spirit took exception." She suggested.

Trip had to chuckle at _that _mental image.

"Sorry we missed that." He said. "It'd make a great story at the next hunters convention."

"We should check the house." She said, already putting all that aside.

They took to the porch, knocked on the door, peered through the windows.

Nobody home and whoever drove that truck parked over there had left the door wide open and…_not _gone in the house, it would seem.

It was an old house. It had probably sat here for over a hundred years already. Obviously refurbished here and there, upgraded with this and that. And, yes, the lock on the door was modern enough…which meant the door itself wasn't designed to accommodate it and the magnetic seal didn't sit quite right.

All it would take was a little jimmy with one of the tools in the trunk designed for precisely that and they could walk right in.

Trip was already turning to go fetch that when T'Pol simply reached out and turned the knob.

The door opened right up.

He gave her a surprised look before she could point out the obvious.

"We are in Utah, Trip."

Right.

And the house was currently unoccupied anyway. So…of course no one bothered to lock the door. Who was going to come around and trespass? Nobody, that's who.

T'Pol stared at him until he had to admit it.

"Okay, so I'm a little rusty." He grinned, shyly.

But at least he scored a point or two with that. A little humor in her eyes there. Not something anyone but maybe two people in the whole galaxy would ever notice in her, but he noticed it.

The sun hadn't quite set yet, or even begun getting around to that in earnest, but it was getting dark in there. That was obvious the second they stepped inside the place.

No point in fetching flashlights of any kind. They'd probably fizzle and die the second anything in here starting throwing off some serious electromagnetics. But, still…

"Nobody home." Trip said, looking around. "Want to load up now or wait until she starts throwing things at us?"

"We should load up now, to be safe."

He had to chuckle at that. Because, right. Safe with a poltergeist? Yeah, okay.

The point was made pretty clear when they hit the trunk of the bug, and spend two minutes going over every bit of gear that would pretty much be useless here. Even the salt, which was normally the go-to bit of perfect when it came to spirits. A poltergeist would just beat you to death with the environment while you stood there on the other side of that.

So, rock salt shotguns. That, the motion sensor and a talisman T'Pol said _should _work.

She wasn't sure, having never actually tried it before…

He grabbed the shotguns from her and checked all the seals on the binary propellant system. Cracked open the toolbox and checked the pressure levels in the propellant canisters, too. Did a couple of test fires with the ignition chambers…

All that engineering stuff dad had stuffed down his throat was good for something anyway. They'd fire just fine, but if that's all they had to work with here he was going to be perfectly sure before he walked in there pissing off poltergeists.


	9. The Hanging Bear

There was the awkward moment she should have expected, when both of them paused at the door waiting for the other to enter first.

He because it had been five years since they'd hunted together…since he'd hunted at all, in fact. He'd been eighteen when he left and had only just begun to jockey for a more dominant position of some sort in the group. More and greater responsibility, which his father had been reluctant to grant him.

Only one conflict among many that laid the groundwork for his later abandoning them entirely.

Trip had always kept to the rear. He carried the gear, remained ready with salt or specialized ammunition, monitored the EMF scanner…

He never went first, in other words. Charles Tucker always entered first, be it a house or a room or any other potentially dangerous area, T'Pol right behind him to cover his flank and clear the way for Trip.

So Trip waited for her to enter the house, because that is what he was used to doing.

And she waited for him, because Charles Tucker always entered first.

That was an uncomfortable moment for her. That she'd already and so easily placed Trip in Charles Tucker's position…she wasn't sure what to think about that.

And all the more that she'd so easily slipped into that same pattern of behavior herself. She'd operate independently, with rare exception, for some years now, and quite effectively at that. Yet still, the moment she was paired with one of the Tuckers again…she simply assumed a support role without a thought.

He thankfully didn't seem to realize what she'd done and she was only then aware that she didn't want him to. He focused on his own assumptions and laughed at them instead.

He just chuckled and entered the house, and she followed, putting that uneasy matter aside to contemplate later.

But she moved to his side immediately once they'd entered, not being at all secure in their relationship enough to let him take the lead fully. Not just yet and perhaps not at all.

It wasn't quite dark in the house, but it was readily apparent that it would be soon. Trip, being Human, hadn't bothered to bring a light source of any kind. His eyes would adjust easily as night descended. Hers would as well…but only to a certain, lesser degree. So she donned night glasses, to make up the difference.

The entire western third of the house on the ground floor, and most the front half on the southern side, formed one large L-shaped living room and entryway area. This was the room they'd walked into upon entering the house.

It was a death trap.

Being heavily furnished to begin with and seemingly everything there having been dismantled or deconstructed…it was literally cluttered with broken pieces of wood, metal, electronics and various materials of every other imaginable sort.

This was not the place to be should you encounter a poltergeist who felt the need to express themselves.

To the right, beyond an open doorway, a dining room. A broken and dismantled table, several chairs shoved around and knocked over. Directly north of that, through another open doorway, the kitchen with all the prerequisite heavy appliances.

All of that within sight of where they stood, even if some only glimpsed. None of it at all suggesting any safe haven, considering the situation.

Directly ahead, the stairwell up to the second floor and just beyond that on the right side, an open door to a small empty room adjacent to the kitchen.

T'Pol had the motion sensor and Trip, the scanner, and they both propped shotguns up on their shoulders to retrieve them and take a good read.

"Got some heavy EMF, all over the place." Trip reported. "Not seeing any cold spots, though."

"No notable movement." T'Pol said, already dropping the sensor back on its strap. "Let's split up and meet back here, eliminate the ground floor quickly. I'm not comfortable here."

"Yeah, no kidding." Trip said, eyeing the veritable cornucopia of potentially deadly projectiles.

The kitchen revealed nothing of interest, but its condition suggested the rest of the house may well have been stripped of any useful intelligence as well. It was becoming obvious the farmhouse was being prepared for either very extensive remodeling…or outright deconstruction.

Most likely the latter, all things considered. The farmhouse had already developed something of a reputation over the years, due entirely to the poltergeist's previously benign behavior. With the recent addition of outright violence, T'Pol supposed she would likely have reacted by having the house completely dismantled as well. The farmland itself would still fetch a decent price, if the current owner intended to rid themselves of it.

The laundry was located off the stairs, behind and beneath the stairwell. The small, empty room glimpsed earlier. It had already been completely emptied, the floor even having been swept clean.

Trip met her coming out, finding the living room itself nothing more than a wide area full of difficult to traverse junk that was best gotten clear of quickly.

"I'm getting the feeling we're not going to get anything out of this house." He frowned.

"Indeed, there is little to be found here." She acknowledged. "The building is being prepared for demolition. Most or all of the family's personal effects have already been removed."

Trip propped the shotgun up on his shoulder again, running his fingers through his hair and sighing with frustration.

"This is exactly what I was afraid of." He said. "Whatever that girl's stuck on might not even be here anymore."

"If it was not, _she _would not be here anymore." T'Pol pointed out. "We have seen it confirmed many times that spirits follow anchors entirely despite themselves, just as the word 'anchor' would suggest."

"Alright," Trip conceded. "Upstairs? The girl had to have had a bedroom."

The second floor wasn't nearly as threatening. Very little had been disturbed here yet. The master bedroom took up the entire western side, two smaller bedrooms along the east. The northern bedroom on that side being consigned to storage, with the other belong to Anna Hadley. One bathroom sat off the hall, another off the master bedroom. That was all.

A quick search of the master bedroom revealed little of interest. And, again, despite nothing here having been removed and disposed of recently, it was obvious most of the family's personal effects were long since gone. Likely more distant family had come and claimed the majority of it in the few years since the murder-suicide that had occurred here.

They saved the bedroom in the southeast corner for last. The child's bedroom.

Nothing.

A bed, stripped of linen. A small, pink dresser empty of anything at all. Closet open and bare. Hardly so much as a scrap of paper left to litter the floor.

T'Pol felt the chill first, being a bit more receptive to changes in temperature. She reached and tipped the motion sensor up for a quick look, but it revealed nothing. It wasn't a scanner, of course, and wasn't designed to indicate everything it detected, just whether or not anything it detected _moved_.

So she warned Trip, despite that having given him enough time to realize it had gotten unnaturally cold in the room himself.

"Trip." She said, nodding at his scanner when he looked over at her.

He reached for it, just as his breath began to fog in the air before him and her own sensor suddenly chimed.

Another look, while he checked his…

It was in the room, moving. Only just coming to a stop the moment she saw the indicator on the sensor screen, so that her sensor immediately lost track of it and the indicator vanished.

"EMF spike." Trip said, grimly.

But T'Pol was already quite aware. She was looking at it.

"She's here." T'Pol said, staring at the little girl.

Trip was at her side in less than a heartbeat, free hand gripping the barrel of his shotgun where he held it high, prepared to bring it down and fire.

She appeared young, perhaps no older than eight years old. Wearing a plain white nightgown, barefoot, clutching a worn and abused teddy bear. Long hair that may have been blond in life, but it was hard to tell. She practically appeared in black and white, with very little indication of color at all.

It was Anna Hadley, though. The slain child of the family who'd last lived in this house. Killed by her father, along with her mother, before the man took his own life in the attic.

There was no mistake. She matched the pictures T'Pol had seen of her perfectly.

T'Pol shivered a bit as the specter stared back at her. Not from fear but because, simply…it was very cold in the room now. Uncomfortable enough for a Human, but for her almost painful.

She child stared for a moment…then suddenly flickered. Flashing forward across the room to the dresser, where she was now actively searching in the top drawer. Reaching and moving unseen items aside as she searched…

Flickering again to the bed, crouching low to peer under it…

Abruptly shimmying and flashing to the closet, where she searched among several more unseen things.

Then to the doorway, where it seemed as if she would proceed out of sight, moving too quickly to follow. Only during the short moments where she paused and looked for whatever she sought was she clearly visible.

And just as she was about to disappear…she suddenly flickered and flashed directly in front of T'Pol, startling her enough that she stepped back a step.

The child stared solemnly up at her again.

"I can't find it." She said.

And her voice was heavy with sadness…

Trip immediately stepped up and leveled the shotgun, barely bothering to take aim. Pulling the trigger, causing the weapon to flash and _bang _loudly enough that T'Pol could _feel _the explosion.

If she were any less disciplined, she may have even flinched at that.

Anna flickered and disappeared instantly, disrupted by the blast of rock salt cutting through the space she inhabited in excess of three thousand kilometers per second. Bits and pieces of it impacting the far wall and the floor of the hallway outside with an sharp, audible snap.

T'Pol allowed herself a moment to gain control over and suppress her surprise. And to let her inner ear recover a bit from the assault it had just suffered. Then she turned an eyebrow on Trip, demanding a reckoning.

He still had the shotgun shouldered, cheek to the stock, eyeing down it. But he cut his eyes over for a brief second to catch her look.

Dropping the weapon a bit to frown back at her.

"You know what was going to happen next." He said.

And…

Well, yes, she supposed she did.

The child would probably become immediately frustrated, no matter how they responded. Then the excitement would begin.

_Perhaps _not, but yes probably.

T'Pol frowned anyway.

"If she is powerful enough to be considered a poltergeist in the first place," T'Pol pointed out. "Then she will likely recover quickly. And express her disagreement with being demanifested in that manner."

Trip was already moving for the door, one hand digging in his pocket to replace the round of rock salt he'd discharged.

"We've got her number, though." He said, glancing back to be sure she followed. "That was Anna Hadley."

T'Pol followed, quite ready to argue still, but the ghost would indeed return any moment, so that would have to wait. She shouldered her own shotgun and moved to flank him as they made for the stairs.

The stairs, down to the first floor, out the door and away from here. To the cemetery, where they would disinter, salt and burn the bones of Anna Hadley.

But something creaked behind them.

And they both spun about instantly, aiming down the sights of their weapons…

High, near the ceiling, where the access to the attic they hadn't noticed before was now cracked wide. Creaking still more as it slowly opened further in the dimly lit hallway, revealing the wooden steps, folded flat against the trap door…

And the hand and arm pushing down from up there, opening it.

They waited, ready to fire.

Until a face appeared there, almost upside down. Looking out with obvious trepidation.

Freezing suddenly when he there saw them there aiming shotguns at him.

T'Pol's eyes narrowed, examining the man carefully…

"Speak." She ordered, firmly.

The man startled.

"Don't…don't shoot!"

They both jerked the shotguns down from their shoulders, Trip with an audible, sharp sigh.

He even cursed mildly, under his breath.

"Who are you?" T'Pol demanded.

"I'm…Carl Saunders." The man said, still cocked at an odd angle, looking down at them from up there. "What…what happened? I heard a gunshot…"

"That was me." Trip said. "What the hell are you doing here?"

The man hesitated, clearly unsure whether to answer that.

Trip glared at him.

"Is it safe to come out?" The man stuttered.

* * *

T'Pol looked around the attic while Trip intimidated answers out of the man, 'Carl'. There were at least a dozen old plastic crates full of various knick knacks. Several more stuffed with old clothing. Two dressers with little in them, having obviously been stored up here…despite the logistics of that being rather curious. She would have had trouble getting them up the folding stairs herself, even with help.

"And you've been up here the whole time?" Trip demanded.

"Yeah, she don't come up here." Carl said, nervously. "Did…did you find Jack?"

"Looking under the truck for people wasn't the first thing that popped in my head when I got here, Carl."

"I think…I think he's probably dead."

A mirror sat leaned against one end of the attic, but it didn't seem remarkable. It had obviously either been removed or had broken away from another piece of furniture, most likely the long dresser in the master bedroom.

"And what about this Keller guy?" Trip pressed. "Your boss."

"His truck's out back…"

"He's _here? _Where?"

Carl hesitated…

"I…heard some screaming a while ago…"

Of immediate interest, beyond any of these things or anything they contained…was the hangman's noose dangling from the center beam in the middle of the attic.

It wasn't made of rope, but rather fashioned from twine of some sort.

And hanging from it, by its neck…a ratty, well worn and overly abused teddy bear.

"Go back to the last time you saw her." Trip insisted, forcefully.

"Aw, man…that was…that was just…"

"What _happened?"_

"She was just standing there! I thought…maybe I could sneak off, but she was just standing down there in the hall! Just staring at up me, like…and then she started _screaming…"_

T'Pol raised her right ankle, reaching down to fetch out the knife she kept there. Reaching out with it to flick the twine above the noose. Pulling the teddy bear away to shimmy the blade carefully at its neck and flick the noose itself away, without damaging the stuffed animal further.

Not that it likely mattered, considering the poor condition of it already. But it was possible that Anna Hadley would be acutely aware of any change in condition, and that she may not react positively to such.

"Screaming what?" Trip prompted, when Carl didn't elaborate.

"How she…couldn't _find _it. Just…over and over. 'I can't find it!' 'I looked everywhere, I can't find it!' She just…she shook _the whole house_, man!"

T'Pol waited, looking over at Trip, until she caught his eye. Holding up the small noose to show him before flicking it to the side in distaste.

"She doesn't come up here." T'Pol said, "Because this is where her father hung himself."

Trip nodded.

"And that's why she can't find the teddy bear." He scowled. "Because somebody thought it be funny to hang it up there like that."

T'Pol considered the teddy bear in her hand.

"Do you suppose we should chance returning it to her?" She wondered.

"I say we torch it." Trip said, flatly.

_That _surprised her. And Trip saw her surprise.

"I know that sounds harsh, but think about it." He said. "She's been haunting this place for years and things only just got nasty around here. I bet that teddy bear hasn't been hanging up there very long. A bunch of kids probably came around here looking to see a ghost, found the teddy bear and hung it up there as a prank."

"And that is what prompted the change in her behavior." T'Pol nodded. "Frustration at not being able to find her teddy bear."

"Right," Trip said. "So we give it back to her and now she's got her anchor again, like she already did before. She's not going to just let go or she would never have haunted this place to begin with. And then we'll be chasing her all over the place trying to get that thing _back."_

T'Pol frowned.

"A rather unsatisfactory resolution." She noted.

"Except when you consider how she slaughtered about a half dozen people now." Trip said. "Don't get me wrong. I know she's so far gone she doesn't have any idea what she's doing, but it seems like a no brainer to me. Torch the thing and put an end to it."

T'Pol nodded.

"That _is _the logical thing to do."

Trip moved over to the trapdoor, motioning her back out of the way. And he opened it for a peek once she was clear.

He didn't look long before frowning back at her.

And the girl started screaming down there in the hallway below. Screaming with quite an impressive degree of volume. Enough, as Carl had suggested, to shake the whole house. Which promptly began happening.

T'Pol was already convinced but that rather brought matters to a head. She put the teddy bear carefully aside, propping it up on the empty dresser near at hand, grabbed her shotgun from where it leaned there and approached the trapdoor to look.

Anna was down there, standing in the hallway.

She was very upset. Enough that T'Pol already found keeping her feet to be a slight challenge, with how the floor shook and swayed beneath her.

She shouldered the shotgun, took aim, waited until Anna wavered directly into her sights…

And pulled the trigger.

* * *

Jack was right where Carl said he would be.

Most of him, anyway, and it was something of a mystery how the things that had been done to him had been accomplished in the limited space available directly beneath a two-ton, flatbed cargo hauler.

Verne was presumably still out in the cornfield somewhere. And, no, they weren't about to go and verify that.

Keller was in the dumpster, in about a dozen pieces. His head actually positioned perfectly atop the remains of a side table. Placed there on display, obviously.

T'Pol had shared a look with Trip over that.

Because, as he'd said earlier, that did not fit the profile.

Trip joined her after only a second, jumping down the short foot or so from the side of the metal dumpster.

"That kid must have been from one really messed up family." He said, shaking his head.

"Obviously." T'Pol agreed. "Considering what became of them."

Carl, who'd tagged along quietly now, minus a good deal of flinching, startling and the occasional terrified whimper…suddenly felt he had demands to make.

"Can we go now?" He said, anxiously. "What are waiting around for?"

T'Pol attempted to put him at ease.

"We have to resolve this matter, Mr. Saunders…"

"Resolve _what?" _Carl said, his tone becoming all the more hysterical. "This is some kind of horror movie crap going on here, man! We've got to get out of here!"

"Relax, Carl." Trip said.

"We've got to get out of here…!"

"Hey!" Trip snapped, pointing off toward the dirt road. "The road's right there! You want to leave? Start walking!"

Carl blanched.

"I…I…"

"Right." Trip nodded. "So if you want a ride, then just stop freaking out for a second and let us handle this."

Carl just stared wide-eyed, jerking back and forth between the two crazy people he was dealing with here…

T'Pol stopped paying attention to all of that, though. She reached into her jacket for the can of liquid accelerant kept there for just such occasions. Keeping a wary eye on the front porch of the house as she did so.

Because Anna was standing there on the step, watching them. Fretfully picking at the ghost-teddy in her arms.

"Trip." She said, lowly, as she busily doused the stuffed animal with the can.

He noticed her immediately and had his shotgun trained on her while Carl squawked and stumbled around to hide behind him.

"You got it, T'Pol?" He asked, not taking his aim or his focus off the girl.

"I do." She said, already crouching to place the teddy bear carefully on the ground at her feet, reaching into her side pocket for the electric lighter…

And Anna flickered, flashing across the yard in an instant. Suddenly standing right next to T'Pol, staring down at the drenched teddy bear.

Trip shifted to follow immediately, sighting down at her before anything else startling could happen, and pulled the trigger…

The shotgun 'clicked'.

"I found it." Anna said, sounding rather pleased with herself. "The bad thing took it and now I found it."

Trip snatched the shotgun off his shoulder to stare at it in amazement for a quick moment. Stunned, because….his eyes jerked to meet T'Pol's to share the absolutely stunning thought he was having.

_I checked it! I checked the damned thing!_

He immediately went to work though, snatching the shotgun upright and around to fumble at the undercarriage. To pull it away and fix whatever the hell…

Fix it quick. Fix it _now_.

T'Pol had a sudden, immediate choice to make. Leap to one side, for her own shotgun where it lay in the dirt…or…

She threw out her hand, flicking the lighter on in the process.

Just as Anna reached for and reclaimed her lost teddy bear, the ghost echo of which that she'd been carrying up to now already long gone.

It ignited. But Anna didn't seem either to care or to notice. She held it tightly to her, even as it flared into flame.

T'Pol had already dropped the lighter and rolled away, snatching up her shotgun once she reached it. Shouldering it and aiming as she came up to sit upright. Staring down the sights at Anna Hadley.

Waiting, ready to pull the trigger. Trip finally fumbling his shotgun up to do the same, over there a few feet away.

They waited and they remained ready. Focused, alert, tense.

Because Anna was a cute little eight year old girl and she had her damned teddy bear back. But she'd also pretty viciously slaughtered almost a half dozen people in a strikingly brutal manner.

Whatever critical point had to be reached here was soon reached. The flame dismantling the teddy bear at the molecular level just enough that whatever laws governed these things were forced to recognize it was no longer the teddy bear that it once was. That the teddy bear was gone from the universe and that anything and everything associated with it needed to be adjusted to that fact.

Anna Hadley suddenly flared into flame herself, mirroring the fate of the stuffed animal that anchored her here.

But she smiled, not noticing or caring about any of that. Hugging the teddy bear to her right up until the last bit of her erupted into flame and disappeared.


	10. Skeercrow

They kept their shotguns aimed at the spot for a little while, just to be sure, but even the phantom sparks and ashes faded quickly away to nothing.

The remains of the teddy bear plopped gently to the yard, though. Still burning but already beginning to sputter out. It had accomplished what it had been set to accomplish, but as T'Pol was well aware, children's stuffed animals were routinely treated with flame retardants.

She was the first to lower her weapon, bringing it to her waist to head straight for the cargo bug. Pulling the rear door open, accessing the cache, retrieving a phase pistol from there.

She spent a moment or two burning the remains of the teddy bear with that, just to be _perfectly _sure. There was nothing left but an ounce or two of ash and an ugly scar in the dirt after a short moment. So it was done.

They were done here.

Off to one side, just a meter away, Trip shouldered the shotgun he carried. And he sighed a bit.

"Well…" He said, "That was pretty easy."

She spared him a dubious eyebrow for that, though he was right of course. It had been a relatively simple exercise, relative to most other such hunts they'd engaged in at least.

She gave him the eyebrow anyway though, because it was best not to take such things for granted.

Trip grinned back at her.

"I mean, I figured my first time out of the gate in a few years…it'd be some big, complicated mess."

"Several people _are _dead." She pointed out.

That had an impact. He blinked a bit, realizing he hadn't given that the gravity it was due…

"Right." He said, solemn now. "But…still…"

"Where is Carl?" T'Pol asked, hastily. Because she'd just noticed…

Carl wasn't there anymore.

Trip cast a casual glance over his shoulder at where Carl stood. Or _had _stood, however long ago it had been since the last he'd been aware of him.

They both glanced around quickly, before sharing a look.

Right. Too easy.

"Where the hell did…?" Trip asked.

Someone screamed out in the cornfield.

She had the phase pistol raised, aimed in that general direction, instantly. Trip flashing to stand next to her with the shotgun, as quickly as anything Anna Hadley could have hoped to accomplish.

The scream was short and abruptly interrupted…but they had a general fix on the location. At least fifty meters west, deep in the cornfield.

And the sun was already setting, getting darker by the moment. Little could be seen even beyond the first row or two of corn, never mind anything beyond that already being obscured by the cornstalks themselves.

They didn't move. Weapons trained in that direction, listening and waiting…

Until the screams began again, having relocated north. On the move now and all the more terrified.

And not just terror. That was the sound of someone being…injured. Quite severely.

"Trip," T'Pol said, quietly, as they tracked the sound. "The girl said, 'the bad thing took it'…"

It took him only a moment to catch up…

"Aw, crap." He said, nervously. Shotgun moving slightly as he turned to follow…

The screams stopped, somewhere out in the dark, directly north, perhaps eighty meters off the yard. But other sounds were audible now.

To T'Pol, at least. She doubted Trip could make them out.

Sounds roughly equivalent to thick wet cloth being brutally torn, but that wasn't what it was at all. She was familiar enough with that sound. Though having heard it only a few times in her life, it had been under extreme circumstances each time, so she'd internalized that sound quite well.

That was the sound of flesh being torn. Torn, ripped and rent. Blood splatter along with that, indicating either an unusual amount of force being applied or a rather crude implement of some sort being used…

Trip's earlier argument suddenly came to mind. And it seemed much more logical a point now than before.

They hadn't come here to put Anna Hadley to rest, specifically. They hadn't come here to hunt at all. They'd come to find Charles Tucker and had done little in relation to that since they'd arrived.

So…

That became something of a question that should perhaps be addressed now.

Now seemed a good time to address that question.

"Do we want to stay and deal with this or go find your father?" She asked.

Standing beside him, their weapons trained on the field. Still taking aim, waiting.

"Can't leave now," Trip decided, frowning.

And he must have sensed her surprise at that.

"Six people, T'Pol." He explained, "And we'll be responsible for seven, eight and nine if we just hightail it now."

She actually pulled her eye off the pistol sights to stare at him a bit.

"What?" He frowned, with a quick glance.

"That is not the answer I expected."

Trip looked surprised at _her _now. And…perhaps a little offended.

"I _agree_." She added, quickly. "I simply didn't expect…"

Trip just drop his aim and stalked over to the cargo bug, so she was suddenly forced to cover him, moving to keep the phase pistol ready to use against anything that took advantage…

He started digging around in the cache, where she'd left it open to retrieve the phase pistol. Taking one of his own now to tuck in the waistband of his pants. Grabbing a sheathed iron dagger to tuck in his belt behind him. Grabbing a backpack, with all the assorted paraphernalia…tossing that up on one shoulder.

Very well, then. She covered him until he was done, so that he could do the same for her.

The sounds had died off to nothing out in the cornfield, though.

"Hurry," She encouraged him. "It's finished out there."

So, of course, it'd probably be coming for them soon. If not now. So he should perhaps move more expeditiously…

He turned, already holding out the second backpack to her. She took it, tossed it on and moved in on the trunk, as he stepped away to search the area again down the sights of his shotgun.

When her glance passed over the flashlight in the trunk, in the process of rapidly gauging everything she might conceivably find needful in there…the thought occurred to her.

She tossed the phase pistol in and snatched up the flashlight, activating it, shining the light out over the cornfield to the west…

And yes, she had been correct.

"Trip," She said. "Look."

He looked and saw what she did.

The perch out in the field, where the scarecrow had rested earlier…was empty. Just a tall wooden cross standing unoccupied out there now.

Trip said something decidedly profane. Something she had to suppress the impulse to chastise him for saying.

He wasn't a child anymore, after all…but, still, that _was _especially obscene…

"Right. Of course." Trip said, disgruntled. "What do we know about scarecrows?"

"Very little." T'Pol said, already returned to securing her gear from the trunk. "I am aware of an old story of hunters encountering a pagan fertility god who utilized one. Norse, I believe…"

"That can't be this." Trip said. "And the corn doesn't look like any fertility gods have been hanging around..."

T'Pol tossed the shotgun in the trunk and grabbed the particle rifle, taking it to her shoulder immediately.

"It is not animated by the girl's psychokinetic abilities." She pointed out, even as she tilted the motion sensor at her hip for a quick look.

"A two-fer." He snorted, bitterly. "Well, that's nice."

"Two-fer?" She asked, even sparing a glance up over that one.

"Two for one." He smirked.

"I see." She said, monitoring the motion sensor. "No movement."

Trip reached for his scanner, giving that one hand and a half his attention.

"Yeah, it's out there watching us," He nodded. "Trying to decide how nasty to be."

He turned a little, giving the area a good scan while he had the opportunity.

"Gets better and better." He said, after a short moment. "No EMF at all. Not a thing. Zilch."

"It's corporeal?" She asked, surprised.

"Looks like."

"_That _is unexpected."

Trip suddenly tossed the shotgun to the dirt and snatched the phase pistol from his waist.

"Works for me." He said, grimly. "And we don't have time for this."

He adjusted the settings on the phase pistol quickly, then…to her surprise, immediately aimed for the corn field. Very roughly in the direction they'd last heard Carl, presumably, screaming.

And he fired, one long continuous beam along the row, covering nearly two dozen meters before pausing to check the pistol again.

That entire line of row, and most of that behind that row, was almost immediately set ablaze. With almost all of it cut off at roughly half a meter from the ground, dropping blazing cornstalks down all along the rows.

He satisfied himself with whatever he was checking on the pistol…apparently making sure he hadn't overcharged it, because he immediately leveled it again, took aim and lit up another _thirty _meters of the row.

T'Pol was forced to move up alongside him before she could get him to notice the look she was giving him.

He huffed when he did.

"Well, you know its hiding out there in the field…" He said.

Something moved, quite rapidly, along her peripheral vision. Gone already when she jerked her attention…and the particle rifle…in that direction. Trip must have caught the movement as well, because he did exactly the same.

"Told yah." Trip said.

Both of them aiming their weapons roughly at the space between the field and the house, where the movement had almost been seen.

Then Trip shifted his aim again slightly.

And starting setting the house on fire. Burning a long line down the outside wall, under the porch…

"Trip!" T'Pol said, since verbalizing her disagreement was apparently required to encourage some form of _restraint _here…

"Hey, be logical." He said, still setting the house on fire. "It's already killed, what, six people? That we _know _about…"

He finally stopped firing, at least.

But now nearly the entire northern line of the cornfield was on fire now, already spreading as far as two or three more rows beyond that. And the house itself, the roof of the porch now beginning to catch…

Plastic snapped and shattered somewhere behind the house then, and they readjusted their weapons. Trip moving to cover the right side of the house, T'Pol the left.

Because, quite obviously, whatever it was that had darted into the house had exited the building through a rear window. Hastily enough not to bother with _opening _the window in the more traditional fashion.

"I guess scarecrows don't like fire." Trip said, somewhat grimly amused. "Better make a note of that in your database…"

Another quick peripheral glimpse of movement on the right side of the house, where Trip was aiming. She shifted her aim there immediately…but it was already gone again.

And Trip had already fired, cutting a line across the yard, leading directly to the tool shed off to one side. Incidentally setting still more of the cornfield ablaze here and there, along the _eastern _border this time.

He kept his aim on the tool shed, so she did as well.

They waited a few seconds, but nothing moved in there.

Then Trip opened fire again, setting the tool shed ablaze…

"Trip," T'Pol said, sternly. "Please stop setting everything on fire."

He stopped firing.

Complying with her request, she assumed at first, but from the frowning and peering at the pistol…

No, he'd actually burned out the entire power cell on the weapon with all of that.

"Gotta reload." He said, already turning quickly to the cargo bug, cracking the pistol open to fetch out the spent power cell…

Something flashed out from the tool shed. Out through the air, in his direction.

T'Pol was firing already but that didn't stop the object from striking him in the back, impacting and bouncing high off into the air.

She didn't stop to even glance over, not sparing any attention from filling the dark doorway of the tool shed with every pulsed phase shot she could, but the afterimage of what she'd seen from the corner of her eye…

The round, disk shaped piece of metal…that had a been an old, rusty saw blade, and it had not only impacted but had cut deep into his back when it struck.

She could hear him cry out and stumble, but he was still moving somewhere behind her. Not stumbling to the ground, not knocked prone…so presumably not mortally injured.

So she didn't spare any attention from covering him. Firing rapidly into the tool shed, stepping over to block the line of sight between there and Trip, to eliminate him as a target again.

Trusting that he was moving to the bug and trunk cache, to do the logical thing.

Another blade arced out of the darkness…with another and another immediately behind…

And she was firing on the run, darting sideways, missing badly but at least still sending pulses in the general direction of the shed. Doing her best to avoid those saw blades herself while still at least returning some measure of suppressing fire.

She heard one of the blades strike and _sing _off the bug, the other two flying out into the corn somewhere beyond…

Then it was there.

Darting into the doorway of the shed, a long blade of some sort in its hand.

And, yes, it was the scarecrow, as she otherwise would have predicted. Dark, wide-brimmed hat. Trench coat, old worn boots, straw poking out here and there in bunches…and machete, of all things, in its hand.

Running straight for her before she even realized it had started moving.

And it was _fast_.

_Shockingly _fast. Almost halfway across the yard to her before she could blink.

She managed three quick shots, one missing terribly, but the two that hit…didn't seem to accomplish anything at all…perhaps destroying small sections of old clothing and the underlying straw…

But it had no flesh to disintegrate and apparently wasn't susceptible to shock. Nor was the particle rifle capable of generating heat enough to cause a lasting combustion, even if she had time to alter the weapon to such a setting before it was on her.

She barely had time to drop the rifle quickly into both hands, gripping it awkwardly at the forward barrel, wielding it like a club.

Because the scarecrow was coming at an impossibly rapid sprint, aimed slightly to one side of her, with the machete drawn back to one side, to slice at roughly knee level.

Its intention quite obvious. To maim her and continue on into the cornfield to the west immediately thereafter. And it would easily accomplish that, before either she or Trip could do anything to prevent it, if it landed that blow.

So she did the same, drawing the rifle back like a club, ready to swing when it came into range…then stepping behind her when it did, twirling around in the opposite direction, _into _its path rather than aside…swinging around to strike it across the other shoulder…

She struck hard, butt of the rifle practically bouncing deep off the straw that composed the thing. But she managed to knock it off balance, at least…

It hadn't been able to slice at her as it had intended, though it did still try from the awkward, off-balance position she'd forced on it. And it stumbled badly as it flashed by her, stubbornly trying to regain its footing enough to keep running.

She turned after it, already drawing the rifle back again for another blow…actually _chasing _it now, where it stumbled past her. It was so fast that even stumbling by she could barely catch up to it.

And she struck again.

_Hard_.

Knocking it completely off its feet to sail through the air a couple of meters before tumbling along the ground. Only a few meters shy of the cornfield, though, where it obviously meant to take cover again. To hide and stalk them once more.

It was on it hands and knees, splayed out like a cat, almost instantly. Head thrown back, looking directly at her.

It had no face.

Just a blank, off-white, faded old flour sack for a head, with a hat jammed on top of that. Nothing even suggesting facial features at all.

Yet it still looked piercingly at her somehow. Which was…mildly intimidating.

Enough that she was all the more unprepared when it leapt at her from where it crouched, and with the speed it evinced it was on her before she could barely begin to react.

She managed to clumsily block the swing of the machete blade, and that was the crucial matter it would seem. Surprisingly, the scarecrow itself possessed hardly any mass at all for its size. Which should not have been a surprise, as it was stuffed with straw…but she still hesitated a slight moment before she was able to take advantage of that.

Shifting her weight back, jamming the butt of the particle rifle under its arm from where she'd blocked its swing, lifting up with all her considerable Vulcan strength…

Lifting and arching it over, sending it flying back behind her as she turned. Sending it back away from the cornfield, to land in a heap in the dirt yet again.

Over there, between she and Trip.

And he _had _done the logical thing after all, reloading the phase pistol in the course of all that. Leaning on the side of the cargo bug, hurt and wounded, but he was ready to fire when it landed.

No pulsed energy fire now, but a steady stream from a phase pistol set to maximum heat. The scarecrow was ablaze almost immediately, before it could fully get to its feet again.

T'Pol was ready, just in case. Rifle slung back behind her again, ready to strike should it dart and dash back in her direction. And Trip kept firing, burning a decent amount of its mass to ash instantly, setting everything around that on fire in the process.

It was already missing its arm and part of its torso.

But T'Pol had occasion to stare curiously, and Trip even ceased firing in surprise. Because the most interesting thing suddenly happened.

The scarecrow started dancing.

High-stepping, waving its one remaining arm around randomly. Turning rapidly in circles as it did so…

It was…freaking out.

On fire, almost everywhere, flapping its one arm and dancing in circles as the fire consumed it. Outright panicking about that.

Until it finally fell to the ground, once enough of its legs had burned that it couldn't support itself. And it spent a few moments thrashing around wildly there as well. Almost bouncing along the ground from the frantic thrashing and flailing it busied itself with.

Making not a sound otherwise. Just flapping and thumping about lightly.

Trip finally stumbled away from the cargo bug a bit, to take aim and empty the last of that second energy cell on the thing. Burning the rest of it almost entirely away.

It wasn't moving anymore after that. There wasn't enough left of it to move at all.

They watched anyway, because it was certainly a curious sight, but it was gone quickly enough. A last few bits of clothing and several clumps of smoldering straw ember, that was all.

T'Pol eventually nodded, if absently, and brought the rifle down to one hand, before moving to rejoin Trip.

He was looking around the farmhouse and the yard, out at the cornfield…because everything was on fire now, of course. The corn fielding blazing high and deep in three directions, the house fully engulfed in flame and the tool shed rushing to try to catch up with it all.

"Probably ought to get out of here while we can." He said, with a slight chuckle.

But he was hurt, so T'Pol was focused entirely on that. And they didn't leave until she'd inspected the deep gash along his left shoulder blade, despite that being a little risky in its own right. The entire area would be on fire before very long, right up to the highway. And they _would _have to drive through that.

The wound, though…that would have to be cleaned thoroughly and sutured, but it wasn't very deep. The saw blade had impacted the bone and actually bounced off. A careful scan of the wound showing, to her great relief, that his scapula hadn't even been fractured or dislocated. Chipped slightly and gouged a bit. Bruised, certainly, but he'd managed to avoid what could have and practically should have been a deadly injury.

She gathered their fallen weaponry and tossed it into the trunk. Grabbed the field medical kit and fetch out a field dressing to apply. And only then allowed him into the bug, so they could both, as he'd said, get out of there while they could.

* * *

Back on the highway, heading east to Bloomington Hills and the hotel where Charles Tucker had last stayed, T'Pol gave him enough time to settle in a bit, to let the hypospray she'd given him take the worst of the pain away.

She spent that time making calls on her comm, calling in favors, making use of contacts. Spending a few minutes taking Hannibal away from his whiskey to hack the federal satellite system, to be sure the last few hours of passive surveillance on the area was lost.

Setting up an anonymous call to the local volunteer fire department, to be sure they got on top of things before any of the surrounding homes and farmsteads were endangered.

Letting Dusty at the Roadhouse in Texas know they'd encountered something new and interesting, should he want to wander up to Utah and poke around a bit. Which he would, and which she would indeed be receiving his notes regarding in a few days to add to her database, just as Trip had intuited.

Then she frowned at him, where he lounged in the passenger seat.

And stared disapprovingly. Until he was forced to stop pretending he didn't notice.

"What?" He asked, very irritatingly pretending innocence.

"That was excessive." She said.

"Efficient, you mean." He argued immediately.

"Excessive." She insisted. "It is unusually hot and dry in Utah this year. The fields are already burning almost out of control. You may have endangered the surrounding civilian…"

"They've got modern fire suppression gear in Utah." Trip insisted. "They'll have it out in ten seconds flat."

"Nevertheless…"

"I got hit in the back with a saw blade, T'Pol." Trip pointed out. "Imagine if we'd gone into the field after the thing. Or just waited around until it came after us…"

"Trip, it would be preferable if you did not respond to every threat by setting the surrounding environment on fire…"

"I won't, I promise." He said, acceding quickly. "But you've got to admit, that _was _pretty efficient."

"Excessive. But I will grant that it was effective as well."

"See? That's why you like working with Humans. We get the job done."

"Even if that typically involves mass destruction."

Trip grinned and shrugged.

"As a species, we're a fun bunch."

T'Pol considered that for a moment. And he _had _promised not to set everything on fire again from here on, so…she quirked an acknowledging eyebrow, just a little, and left it at that.


	11. T'Polly

**Econo Lodge  
****Saint George, Utah  
****2200 hours**

They pulled into the cheap hotel and parked in the lot, rather than pulling right up to the door. There T'Pol produced, of all inconceivable things, a straw cowgirl hat to plop on her head. It had a nice little crimson hatband and everything.

It looked pretty darned good on her actually, especially complimented by the light brown denim jacket she wore. And those blue jeans.

But, still…

"You're joking." Trip said, staring.

She even looked surprised for a moment, before her eyes flickered and she caught on.

"I've yet to grow my hair sufficiently to make use of a running cap or slouch hat…"

"You're still covering your ears?" Trip asked. "I figured things were getting better."

T'Pol just tapped the dashboard, summoning a vanity display on the forward windshield, peering there for a moment to adjust the hat until she was satisfied.

"Better in some ways." She said. "In others, not at all. It depends mostly on the local culture, but regardless it is better not to draw unnecessary attention. Vulcans are still relatively rare on Earth, especially in more rural areas."

"But this is Utah." Trip argued. "Rural maybe, but they're not _that _far behind."

"It would be better if they were." T'Pol explained. "The friction between Vulcans and Humans is relatively new. Rural areas, being naturally more conservative and lagging behind the general culture actually tend to be more accepting. In fact, they tend to find interacting with extraterrestrials to be a novel experience and go out of their way to do so. That is actually what I intend to avoid here, attracting that sort of attention."

She opened the driver's side door, putting one foot out to exit…and noticed him doing the same.

"Trip," She said, before he could do that. "You should wait here."

He looked surprised. "Why?"

"You're injured." She pointed out. "A Vulcan and a Human renting a hotel room together is notable enough. We don't wish to add to that by appearing to have just engaged in violence of some sort."

Trip was a little shocked at what she'd just said, but he let it slide by quickly. Hopefully before she noticed.

Not the 'engaged in violence' part, because he really did look like he'd done precisely that.

The 'share a hotel room' part. Because, yeah, that was a little surprising.

It honestly hadn't occurred to him that they'd be doing that. It should have, maybe. Hunters hardly had the kind of money to go throwing around at that sort of thing…even getting a hotel room in the first place, rather than crashing out in the bug, that probably represented a full day's hustling on T'Pol's part.

Of course…he could just pay for his own room…

But, no. That was smart. Might as well minimize expenses here…and he didn't mind, if she didn't…

And she was staring at him.

"You've got your ears covered." He argued, before she could stare at him any further. "And I can put that jacket on that you bought me…"

"Trip, wait here. I'll be right back."

"Look, you said the receptionist's name was Ellen? She's not going to just hand over dad's stuff, even if we pay the outstanding bill. I'm sure they've got strict policies about that sort of thing."

"Irrelevant. I will handle that…"

_"I_ can talk to her." He suggested.

T'Pol needed a short moment to understand…

But, yes, she caught on without him having to _say _it. He meant he would flirt with the woman until she was…_persuadable_…

"No, that will not be necessary." T'Pol said. "I'm sure I can handle the situation."

"How?" Trip challenged. "People get fired over that sort of thing. She's not going to just hand it over…"

"I will bribe her."

"Bribe…? With that?"

"Money, of course."

Trip stared.

"You have money?"

"I do." She said. "Wait here, I'll be right back."

She stepped out of the bug, closing the door fast behind her before he could question her further.

But he caught her on the far side, sticking his head and arm out the window.

"You're a hunter." Trip insisted. "Hunters are dead broke as a rule. How do you have money to bribe people…?"

"Trip. I'll be right back."

And she left. Quickly. Not so quickly that she seemed to flee with any particular haste, but enough that he wasn't able to pursue _that _line of questioning.

He stared after her.

How the hell did she have money enough to rent hotel rooms and bribe people? Hunters didn't have _jobs_. They hunted. That _was _their job.

Hunting did not pay in cash…

And, wait a minute…how the heck had she bought him all those clothes he had now? And the clothes _she _was wearing were new, too. Not cheap either.

And lot of that gear in the trunk, that couldn't have been easy to come by…

_Alright, what the hell?_

* * *

She managed to escape before that entire line of inquiry could be explored more fully, but it hardly mattered now. His curiosity had been piqued and she would undoubtedly have to address that.

She entered the hotel lobby and approached the reception desk. Being early evening, there was no one else there, so blatant bribery could be conducted without the threat of witnesses causing the receptionist any discouragement…

But the receptionist, Ellen, saw her enter. And she practically leapt to her feet when she did.

As if she recognized her.

T'Pol slowed just a little. Not so much to give the appearance that she'd been alerted, but enough that she was able to examine the environment a bit more critically before actually reaching the desk and engaging with the woman.

There was nothing notable, however. She could see no reason the woman seemed so anxious to greet her…

"Hi." Ellen said, nervously. Before T'Pol could even fully approach, oddly enough.

"Hello." She said, once she had. "I called earlier, concerning Charles Tucker…"

"Yes, ma'am." Ellen said. "I have everything ready."

She fumbled about at the desk before her…dislodging a writing utensil or two in the process, from the sound of things. Knocking over an empty cup as well…before producing the electronic signature and thumb print board, handing it over for her to review.

T'Pol accepted it, giving the woman another casual examination as she did so…

There was obviously something very unusual going on here.

The unusual typically translated to danger, she'd long since learned. So even as she gave the board half her attention, she set her remaining awareness sharply on the surrounding environment as well. And wished she'd allowed Trip to accompany her after all…

The expenses delineated seemed accurate and constituted all that she'd expected, so she appended her signature and applied her thumbprint to the board. Handing it back, she waited and said nothing.

Now would be the moment when whatever was to happen here would happen. Something rushing upon her from behind, perhaps…she couldn't sense anything crouching unseen behind the desk…

Something in the parking lot, waiting to catch her unawares?

Ellen fumbled the signing board a bit, putting it back on its rest. Allowing the data there to flow, receive confirmation, making a receipt available to download to her personal PADD…

T'Pol readied her PADD without delay, ready to conclude the transaction quickly. It had already occurred to her…whatever was going to happen here would be best allowed to happen _now_. Trip was injured, so involving him, or allowing him to _be _involved, would not be wise.

And if she could resolve the matter quickly enough, she could return to the bug to be sure nothing occurred there while she was away.

Trip was alone out there. Alone and already injured…

"So…" Ellen said suddenly, not at all as casually as she was clearly attempting to be. "If you don't mind me asking…you're Vulcan, right?"

T'Pol spared a bit of false casualness herself, glancing around the lobby. Looking for threats.

"Yes, that is correct." She admitted.

"Right." Ellen nodded, smiling. Still nervous. "I mean, Mr. Tucker and I talked a little…when he checked in, I mean."

T'Pol nodded.

Yes, that's interesting.

Ellen retrieved the board once it was done, handing it over so T'Pol could download her receipt and confirm again.

It was a rather large transfer, after all. Charles owed for the entire stay, as well as two dozen subspace communications…

Wait.

She hadn't realized when she'd examined the board…

Charles never paid? At all? Even when he'd checked in?

She questioned that immediately. Or would have, if Ellen hadn't seized the opportunity she'd just presented.

"Mr. Tucker mentioned he did research for you." She said, brightly. And nervously. "Paranormal investigations, old legends…Bigfoot kinda stuff. I bet _that's _a real interesting job."

"I'm sure it is." T'Pol acknowledged. "Concerning Mr. Tucker's bill…"

"So, you're a writer, right?"

"That is correct."

"And…you're name is T'Pol, right?"

T'Pol stared.

It was not unexpected. This was their standard cover, she posing as an author investigating whatever unusual or paranormal incident or local legend…he posing as her assistant in doing so. And she had adequate evidence to support that claim, in those rare instances where it might be questioned or challenged.

It was essentially accurate, after all.

Ellen had her hands before he suddenly, fingers splayed…

And T'Pol stiffened, half expecting some form of attack now…

But…the receptionist was merely making use of the typical Human tendency toward unnecessary and overabundant body language. Gesturing wildly to emphasize emotional expressions already in clear evidence.

A clear 'hold on' gesture. 'Wait, I have something profound to say…'

"Okay, look." Ellen said. "Don't be mad."

"I am not angry." T'Pol said, flatly. With just a touch of threat herself. "Would I have some reason to be?"

"Well…Mr. Tucker said…" Ellen hesitated. "Or, I mean…he never actually _said_, but…"

"What did he not actually say?" T'Pol pressed.

"Well, there's this author. T'Polly. And she writes this series…"

_Oh._

Of course. She should have realized immediately.

T'Pol held up one hand, forestalling any further clumsy communication here.

"I understand." She said.

"So, I'm not asking you to _admit _anything…" Ellen rushed to explain. "I know you like your anonymity and everything, but…well, I mean, if you _are_…"

"Of course, I can confirm nothing." T'Pol said, casually.

Ellen gushed immediately.

"Oh, wow!" She said. Gushing. "I knew it! I just knew it!"

T'Pol gave her the eyebrow. Because, of course, her behavior was inappropriate. She'd confirmed nothing, after all.

"Right." Ellen said, getting the point immediately. Stifling herself, despite that reducing her nearly to vibrating in place now.

"So…look, here's the thing." She continued, hesitantly. Wringing her hand together now…

And T'Pol noticed the two hotel bags behind her then. Propped up against the wall on the other side of the desk.

That was Charles' shirt poking out of one of them.

So his belongings were being held for ransom here, obviously.

"I think I understand, Ellen." T'Pol said. "I am certain we can come to an equitable arrangement here."

T'Pol reached into her jacket before Ellen could proceed any further, producing an old fashioned laser stylus kept there for just such occasions. Clicking the writing lens into place, ready for use.

Ellen practically dove for the two books she had hidden away behind the desk.

"You understand, I require a certain degree of discretion…" T'Pol pointed out, as she accepted the first book.

"But I can sell the other one on the net, right?" Ellen insisted.

"Of course." T'Pol said, already appending her signature to the first book. "I only require that my identity remain anonymous. There are authorized sources that can verify the signature…"

"Right. '_Midnight Moon Publishing'_. I've already got the confirmation forms filled out…"

"The second book." T'Pol interrupted. "This is for your personal collection, I assume?"

"Yeah…could you…? I mean, I don't want to…"

"Would 'warmest regards' be sufficient? Or do you have some preference…?"

"No, that's great! Thanks!"

T'Pol scribbled her signature. And the entirely over familiar notation as well, handing the book over when she was done.

Ellen immediately snatched them both to her chest, as if they might flutter away if she did not.

"_Velvet Moon _is an interesting choice." T'Pol noted, casually.

And the book was rather well worn, so she found that gratifying.

"Oh, God!" Ellen gushed again. "It's my _favorite! _I almost thought Taylor was going to admit it! I can't believe she let him get away with touching her ears like that!"

"You must realize, of course, that T'Sha only allowed the behavior in order to take advantage of his distraction. She was concerned at first that he may have been replaced by the shapeshifter…"

"Oh, sure! But that was just her being _logical_. She was _so _into it! And that whole decon chamber part…_so _hot!"

* * *

Trip was standing outside the cargo bug. Jacket on now, bandages on his back adjusted so they weren't noticeable. Just about ready to go on in there and find out what was going on here…

T'Pol exited the lobby, two hotel bags in hand.

So he waited until she'd arrived.

"Okay, how'd you do that?" He started in. "How are you throwing all this money around?"

She offered him the bags and he accepted, still waiting for an answer here…

"Room 213, overlooking the parking lot." She said, already turning to the bug. "I'll prepare overnight bags for us and meet you there."

"Good." He said. "And the money? What, did you rob a bank?"

"I have a job." She explained, already rummaging around in there. Grabbing a couple of bags, digging into the purchases she'd made earlier…removing that cute little cowboy hat to toss in there. Showing her ears again, which was somehow even cuter…

"A job? You mean _another _job, besides hunting? What kind of job?"

"I'm a writer."

Trip stared.

Because he couldn't have heard that correctly.

"A _writer_…you mean, like books?"

T'Pol actually stopped to pull her head out of the cargo bug. To make sure he caught the look she gave him.

"What _kind _of books?" He amended.

"Trip, if you're not going to carry your father's belongings to the room, then it would be much more efficient if you helped me pack…"

"Okay, fine."

He put the bags carefully on the ground and came around to help. Diving in up to his waist through the side door to start finding, grabbing and tossing his own toiletries into a bag. A couple of sets of the clothing she'd bought him with this 'book money' she apparently had as well.

And they were very close. Not a lot of room for two people to work in here, reaching all around each other like that…

He suddenly realized that subtle scent he'd been picking up on all day was coming from her. Some kind of…perfume, maybe? Very subtle and…_earthy_, somehow…

When the heck had she started wearing _that?_

And good _God_, that smelled good.

She had her neck right under his face for a second, reaching over to grab something over there…

He breathed deep before anything could even _pretend _he'd made the decision to. Take a good, long whiff of that…

Getting hot. Getting a little hot in here.

T'Pol had stiffened up, he realized. And she pulled away, far enough over to look back at him.

Damn. She'd _heard _that?

"When did you start wearing perfume?" He said, quickly. Trying to cover…

Yeah, failing badly. That was a pretty stupid thing to say…

"What are you talking about?" T'Pol asked, brow even furrowing a bit.

Okay, Trip.

Let's get our _smooth _on here. We're not going to let this get out of hand…

"Smells pretty good." He said, evincing nothing but casual interest here, thank you. "What is that? Athena? Lavish? I don't think I'm familiar with that one."

T'Pol just stared at him.

So…crap.

Oh, crap.

"I don't wear perfume, Trip." She said, curiously. "Why would I wear perfume?"

"Well, most women do…" He shrugged.

Casually. We're all very _casual _around here.

"I am not interested in attracting that form of attention."

Trip blinked a little at that.

"Huh." He said. "I could have sworn…you're really not wearing anything?"

"Perhaps we should return to packing." T'Pol said, disapprovingly. "Without _sniffing _one another inappropriately…"

"Aw, give me a break." Trip frowned. "We're all over each other in here."

"I'll leave it to you, then." She said, stiffly. "I'll secure gear from the trunk."

And she was already gone. Pulled decidedly _out _of the side door, making her way to the back…

_Away_.

So, _fuck_.

Real smooth, Trip.

You idiot.

* * *

T'Pol focused on her breathing, summoning disciplines she hadn't had to avail herself of in quite some time.

Taking control of her circulatory system. Increasing the pulse rate again, decreasing blood pressure. Ceasing…or at least _easing _the rhythmic, thumping beat in her ears that she was so acutely aware of now.

She'd lingered too long with Ellen in the lobby.

Too long discussing the decon chamber scene, imaging it in her mind in the process. Taylor applying decon gel to T'Sha's ears, satisfying his curiosity there, taking advantage of the situation…

It had caused her ears to throb very slightly, she realized now. She hadn't allowed herself to be aware of that then.

So she'd been projecting pheromones all around here, for several minutes now. And Trip had naturally detected that the moment she'd come into close proximity to him.

It was largely innocuous, such pheromones both in Vulcans and Humans accomplishing very little, after all. Not even as effective in eliciting interest or evoking physical responses in others than even the artificial perfumes and scents he'd assumed.

But it was a major indicator and one she should have been much more cognizant of. She should have been aware of it, ready for it. Expecting it.

She suppressed anxiety. A mild sense of panic…

She wasn't ready for this. She just wasn't ready. There wasn't enough time.

Her hand had begun to tremble, she noticed, as she reached for the second backpack in the trunk. So she grabbed that fist in her other hand and she held it tight.

_Tight_.

_Forcing _control again.

Breathing evenly and deep. Embracing calm, summoning control.

She'd been through this before. She would get through it again. There was time. She would _make _time. She would accomplish all that she required before her time came upon her and claimed her again.

Irrational, emotional panic, that was all. Just another indicator, this tendency to fear.

There was plenty of time. She would remain in control for many more days. Weeks, potentially. And she would not allow emotional reactions to rule her now.

There were matters that needed to be put right before that happened. She had made all the requisite decisions here and she would follow through with them.

She was in control.


	12. Vu-en'ahr'at

Trip had the contents of both bags spread out on his bed, separated into various individual piles. His father's clothing tossed in a small heap at the head of the bed, only two full changes of clothing and a couple of additional shirts. Two hardbound books and a PADD containing further reading material set to one side, all of that involving the supernatural. A rather large pile of news printouts and source material, all centered on the Hadley farm, its history and that of the surrounding area.

A small box of acetaminophen dermal tabs, various toiletries, a pair of nail clippers, a laser stylus like her own, a half empty bottle of whiskey and a glass to go with it…

His father's journal. Leather bound, faded, scraps of paper and hardcopy photographs peeking out around the edges.

He hadn't examined that yet, leaving it to her instead.

It was curious, however. Charles had taken his backpack when he'd left so abruptly, containing all of his portable hunting gear…and yet he'd left _that _behind.

He never went anywhere without it.

Trip pored over the printouts, pausing to run his fingers through his hair thoughtfully now and again, but otherwise giving that his full attention.

She examined the journal itself, looking for clues there. Distracted from that almost immediately when she noticed the two photographs tucked into the small pocket on the inside cover.

She pulled them out to exam them, but she already knew them.

The first…and the most painful.

The entire family, when they'd still been a family. Charles, Elaine, she and the baby. Taken by a neighbor on the front porch of the home. Trip safely and peacefully resting in Elaine's arms.

And she was beautiful.

Painfully beautiful. T'Pol's heart ached, both to remember how much she'd loved and admired the woman…and how easily she seemed to have forgotten her.

That and everything she'd done to betray her memory since then…

She turned to the other photograph quickly, and it was almost as traumatic.

Dusty had taken the picture. A memorial, marking a milestone in young Trip's life. Celebrating his first truly independent kill, at age fifteen.

A skinwalker in New Mexico. That one having discovered and utilized mystical methods thought long since lost to history, to gain the powers that he had. Slaying his own sister, in fact, before defiling her corpse sexually and consuming her heart. And he'd terrorized the state for many decades before they finally tracked him down.

He'd come against Trip when he discovered they hunted him. Nearly froze him with fear, making eye contact, _almost _possessing him so that he could prepare to confront she and Charles in his form.

He'd resisted somehow. Speaking the man's full name, stunning him enough that he was able to take up a knife, dip it in the white ash prepared for precisely that purpose and stab him through the heart. Hours before she and Charles would arrive to report their failure in locating the skinwalker's lair.

That had been a proud day. It spoke well of his future, of _their _future.

It had been a _good _day.

And she would destroy it all, tear it all down, only a year later.

T'Pol folded the pictures carefully back together, sliding them into place in the pocket in the journal's inside cover again. Her heart in her throat now, nearly choking her.

And how strange it was that she understood that distinctly Human saying so very well. One's heart in one's throat. She wondered if any other Vulcan could truly understand that phrase.

She swallowed hard. Twice. Tamping her pain and self-loathing down…deep down, where it belonged…

"You okay?" Trip asked worriedly, from where he sat on the opposite bed.

She looked over, eyes clear, face perfectly serene.

"I'm fine." She assured. "Have you discovered anything?"

Trip scratched his chin thoughtfully, looking at her. Still worrying, doubting her assurances, but…

"Well," He said, after a moment. "I think he figured out the scarecrow. We've got a lot of material here on the history of the place. That and the whole area about ten miles in all directions. A whole lot of very violent incidents over the last hundred years, starting with that serial killer. And…a couple of toxicology reports and a botanical survey of the area."

T'Pol frowned, thinking that over.

"The scarecrow was corporeal." She pointed out. "And you detected no EMF…"

"Right, you got it." Trip snorted. "Looks like…some kind of variant of a cursed object, maybe? Dad doesn't exactly spell it out anywhere but the pieces are all here. Black nightshade in the hayfield maybe, a couple of herbs caught up in the straw the thing was stuffed with…probably one of the articles of clothing on the thing belonged to that old serial killer, dug up in an attic somewhere…a little blood on just the right moonlit night with all the violent energy saturating the area…and you've got yourself a cursed, killer scarecrow."

"An _accident?"_

"Could have been intentional, but I really doubt it."

"That is extremely unusual."

"Does happen, though…"

"The killer automobile in South Carolina." T'Pol said, remembering.

"Right, just what I was about to say." Trip grinned. "We thought for sure that thing was haunted."

T'Pol pondered that.

"We were very lucky tonight, then." She said at last. "The automobile had to be crushed and melted down."

"Yeah, _that _was a lot of fun." Trip smirked, sarcastically. "Got anything there?"

He nudged a chin at her. At the journal she held.

"I've only just begun to search it." She said, finally turning the first few pages to do so.

"You been at it for half an hour." Trip frowned.

"I was…considering something."

"What?"

She flipped to the back of the journal, scrambling for something to deflect with…

And found it there waiting for her.

She tossed an eyebrow up high at the curiosity of the thing. A single word, written large, dominating that single, otherwise blank page.

She turned to journal to him, showing him. Along with the eyebrow.

"Disengage?" Trip said, eyes flickering to mull that one over.

But then she got it. And she could see the spark in Trip's eye when he did as well.

"Right." Trip snorted. "That's funny."

T'Pol turned the journal back down, looking at the word.

"Trip, I think this was meant for you…"

"Yeah." He said, tightly. "Disengage. It means break off. Drop the target, break lock, put distance on them rapidly and get the hell out of there at max warp."

"A Starfleet command term…"

"So I guess he kept tabs on me after all."

She stared at the word, though.

Because…it hurt. And she was already hurting.

"He doesn't want us to find him." She said, quietly.

"He doesn't want _me _to find him." Trip corrected.

"No." She said, immediately. Because she was certain. "He knew that I would be with you if you came. He expected you would come, so he knew that I would bring you. This is meant for me as well."

They were quiet for a while. Both contemplating heavy things.

Until Trip spoke at last.

"T'Pol," He said, carefully. "Listen…I _have _to get back to STC. If it were any other time I could _make _more time, but finals are this week. I can't miss that without undoing everything I've done…"

"Trip, I understand." She said, softly.

She still gazed at the page, still lost somewhat in the word confronting her there. And all that it so painfully spoke to her.

"No, look," Trip insisted, softly. "I really wish I could just say, 'forget him'. Just let it go. Let him…do whatever he's doing, but…I know you need to find him."

"He apparently does not wish to be found." She said, ruefully.

"Well, you need to find him." Trip said, sudden firm. "So _screw _him. And screw him for running out on you _now. _If he's that much of a bastard, then to hell with what he wants. He's got a goddamned obligation here."

She turned to look at him finally…because, _what?_

"What are you talking about?"

Trip frowned…and hesitated, looking at her pensively.

"Okay, this…I know this isn't something you'd want to have said out loud…but I can do the math, T'Pol."

She could only stare.

Do math? What?

He frowned deeper, seeing she wasn't following here.

"Arkali was fourteen years ago." He said, carefully. "Alpha Centauri, _seven _years ago…"

Horror shot through her veins.

She gripped the edges of the journal fiercely, closing her eyes and turning away, entirely despite herself.

Overcome just that easily. That completely.

No.

No, no, no…

"T'Pol…"

"No." She breathed.

"It's alright…"

"_No!"_

He said nothing more. Remaining still, remaining quiet…

Allowing her to struggle.

And she struggled, for three long seconds. An eternity for a Vulcan experiencing the emotions she experienced at that moment.

Before finally regained control enough to speak clearly again.

"I won't speak of it." She said, resolutely.

"I know." He said. "And that's fine."

"_I won't…"_

"Okay."

They were quiet again.

Eventually, she took a deep breath. Deep and strong, releasing it slowly.

Folding the journal shut, snapping the leather strap that secured it firmly back into place. Placing it on the bed beside her precisely.

And another breath, so that she could speak clearly. To be understood clearly.

"That is not why I seek to find your father." She said. "That is why I seek to find him _quickly_. So that this matter can be resolved before I am forced to seclude myself. To seek…appropriate, therapeutic treatment at the Vulcan compound in Austin."

"Okay." Trip said, simply.

"Your father and I have not…we do not quite have the relationship…you don't understand…"

"Okay."

"I…tried, but we were unable…"

"T'Pol, you don't have to explain."

"I couldn't. I tried, but I could not…I was…inadequate…"

"T'Pol. _Stop."_

She let out her breath, sighing audibly. Unable to…_articulate_…

"I don't need to know this." Trip said. "Whatever relationship you two have…or _don't _have, whatever…doesn't matter. So you need to find him before you have to go to Austin. Okay, got it."

"Yes." She said, swallowing a little.

"And I can't help you chase him all over the place." He said. "I'm sorry, but I just can't. And not just because of finals…I can't do this without giving up everything…"

"I understand that, Trip." She said, a bit more centered now. "I am not asking you to do that. I do not expect it and do not desire it of you either. I don't _want _you to give up the life you've found for yourself."

"Okay." Trip said, accepting that. "But you also can't do this on your own."

T'Pol sighed.

"There is no one else…"

"Yes, there is." He insisted. "We know people. _Good _people. Or…as good as hunters get anyway. It's time to make some calls, T'Pol."

T'Pol closed her eyes again.

Centering herself _again_.

She was entirely unprepared to have this discussion…

"And…" Trip continued, relentlessly. "If something like Alpha Centauri happens again…if you can't get away, get to Austin…you'll have people there you can trust…"

She was up off the bed before she knew it.

"I will not discuss this further." She said, tightly.

"That's fine. Okay…" Trip said, rushing to reassure.

"I'm leaving." She said, snatching up her backpack. "I'll return shortly. Do not follow me."

"T'Pol, where are you going?"

"Away. I'll be back. Do not follow me."

"Be back _when?"_

"When I no longer struggle with the compulsion to _break _things and _injure _people." She said, grasping the doorknob tightly. "When you accept that this _discussion _will not _happen_."

"We don't have to talk about…"

She was already through the door, allowing herself to slam it shut, before he could finish speaking.

The communication implicit in slamming the door before he could finish speaking being rather important. So, not entirely illogical.

* * *

T'Pol made it to the ground floor before she realized what she was doing. Allowing emotion to guide her, direct her, sweep her away from here. Fear and shame, specifically.

Not entirely ruling her. She was analyzing the situation and forming a steady stream of rationalizations for her actions as she stomped down the stairs…

But that she was doing that, this caused her to realize them for what they were. Rationalizations. Poor constructed, illogical justifications for emotional behavior.

So she stopped at the foot of the stairs, at the ground floor, just off the parking lot. And she got her head together a little. Focused her thinking, thought _critically_. Examined what she was doing here.

It was unacceptable, all of it. So she stopped it immediately.

But she would not return to the room just yet. While led by emotion for a moment…it was nevertheless logical to be alone for a time now. To separate herself from Trip, in fact. She'd been unprepared there as well.

To return suddenly to hunting with a partner after so many years…to hunting with _him _after so many years…it had been entirely too comfortable. She'd settled into many old habits too easily. Much of it had not been properly and critically assessed before being acted out.

She needed to be _away _from him for a time, to take a moment to adjust to this again.

She paused, tilting her head to listen…but he had not followed her, just as she'd requested. Never mind the vague, errant disappointment at that, it was good and it was precisely what she needed now.

To be alone again, independent and necessarily self-reliant.

She squared her shoulders, steeled herself again, reached and seized discipline once more. Opened her awareness and retasked it more appropriately, partly on her surroundings with a healthy respect for any possible danger, partly on her thoughts, examining herself, her actions and her intentions critically.

And she began to walk. Away from here, allowing distance on the situation to provide a more readily accessible objective and focused perspective.

She walked for several minutes, down the busy highway running alongside the hotel. Walked until she grew weary of the traffic and the awareness that hundreds of people must already have looked curiously out the windows of their vehicles at her.

She'd left her hat behind in the bug. Anyone would know at a glance that she was not merely another Human woman simply walking down the street…

She turned right to leave the highway behind her, onto the street on the far side of the hotel, following it down as it curved. It bordered a fast food restaurant of some sort, so perhaps she could go there and purchase tea. To sit in the corner, not entirely isolated, but in an environment where it would be mildly inappropriate for anyone to actually engage her in conversation.

She didn't really want to be entirely alone. Just not with strangers.

To not answer questions or conform herself to anyone else's expectations.

She…

…wanted to talk to Charles.

To have one of those far too rare moments where they actually talked to one another. Not about hunting, not about past regrets. Just…talked.

Or Trip, even better.

But how long since they'd done that? And since he'd truly become an adult? Practically not at all, certainly not recently. And with all that stood between them now…perhaps they never would again.

She found herself standing still on the sidewalk, staring down at it. Contemplating these things.

She felt sad. And she didn't _want _to suppress that.

But she did. Because she was Vulcan and that was required for her.

She glanced up to her right, at the building there. There where the front door opened wide, light shining out freely onto the dark yard.

And that was what she wanted. An open door, where warm light waited to greet her. Somewhere safe…somewhere _home_…that she could go to.

* * *

She recognized the nature of the building the moment she entered, only then recalling the very obvious sign off to one side outside making quite clear what it was, had she bothered to give it any notice then.

It was a church. Rows of polished pews to either side, a simple wooden alter at the far end, podium directly before that. A curtain hanging across the wall behind it, so…obviously some Protestant denomination and there was very likely a baptismal area back there.

There was no one here and it was warm and welcome, so she didn't immediately turn to leave.

Curious that the door was left open though, if there was no one here…

She glanced back at the door, only now finding that curious. And when she looked back at the room she stood in…she was not alone.

There was woman sitting on the pew to the right.

Not _in _the pew, but _on _it. Sitting atop the back rest, feet planted casually in the seat. Black slacks, white blouse, blond hair straight to her shoulders.

Perfectly aware that she stood there, T'Pol knew, but comfortable and at peace, gazing across the room at…whatever she contemplated. There didn't seem to be anything there to look at particularly.

T'Pol was immediately alert. Or she would be, if she had been. Which…was somewhat confusing but hardly mattered, so she didn't mind it at all.

She came alongside to look over at the woman instead. Mildly curious about her.

Quite comfortable about her.

The woman reached around behind her head, dragging her blond hair over her neck out of the way. And she smiled lightly over at her.

"Can I help you?" She asked, serenely.

"I don't believe so." T'Pol said.

And it was not an abrupt reply. Not dismissive or denying in any way. Simply sincere.

"Yes, I know." The woman smiled. "Just being polite."

"I appreciate that." T'Pol said, nodding slightly. Being polite herself.

The woman returned to her contemplations and so T'Pol returned to hers. Gazing across the room herself, considering her situation and all the difficulties she found herself facing.

And perhaps the woman considered something similar. In fact, it seemed obvious now that she did.

So T'Pol put her own concerns aside for a moment.

"Can I help _you?" _She asked.

The woman smiled back at her again.

"I don't believe so." She said, sincerely.

T'Pol nodded.

And suddenly asked a question. Not having decided to, not even completely aware she asked until she had. Forced, in fact, to look to her own memories to discern what she'd just asked.

"How do we fix what we've broken?"

The woman looked over at her calmly again. And somewhat sadly.

"You can't." She said. "Nothing broken can ever be fixed."

T'Pol considered that.

"If that were true," She ventured. "Then we would already have destroyed everything. There would be nothing left."

"True." The woman acknowledged. "And this proves something, don't you think?"

"Proves what?"

"You already know."

T'Pol…didn't want to examine that. So she didn't.

"I don't know what to do." She said, stubbornly.

And she was somewhat surprised to find herself speaking that way now. Almost…embarrassed at herself.

The woman smiled regretfully…and stood up in the pew.

"What you should do is examine the question you just turned your blind eye to." She said. "Then follow that to the logical conclusion."

T'Pol looked up at the woman, curiously…and with some trepidation. Watching as she stepped gracefully down to the floor again.

Walking around her, into the aisle.

Past her, clearly intending to leave the building…

"Who are you?" T'Pol asked.

The woman paused, already halfway to the door, to look back at her.

"What is the question?" The woman asked.

T'Pol knew, and she hesitated to say it.

But she only had a moment before the woman left her alone. And she may never get the chance to ask again.

"How do I bring good come from evil?" T'Pol asked.

The woman looked at her, serious now.

Gravely serious, her eyes _piercing _her.

"You can't." She said. "You can bring nothing good out of what you've done. You can do no good at all. So stop _trying_, T'Pol. Simply trust instead."

T'Pol's heart beat in her chest, far too rapidly. She couldn't identify the emotion that ruled her suddenly.

Or…not ruling her at all, actually. Simply…flowing through her. Beyond all control. A passion she could neither identify nor even discern the purpose of. It didn't seem to _do _anything but flow _through _her.

"I've…done good…" She stuttered, trying to argue.

"You've done nothing good."

"I've _tried_…"

"Insufficient."

"I…_want _to…"

"_That _is enough." The woman said. "If you can trust, then that is enough. If you cannot, then nothing."

T'Pol stood trembling. She could do nothing else.

And the woman was about to turn away and go…

"Who are you?" She asked again.

The woman smiled back at her.

"_Vu-en'ahr'at." _She said.

And she was gone.

T'Pol stared at the open door, not seeing the darkness waiting beyond. Only staring at the air where the woman had been a moment before.

She'd turned, as if to walk away…then she'd simply been gone. She couldn't even say for certain that she'd even disappeared.

But what she'd said.

_Vu-en'ahr'at. _Your godparent, after a manner of speaking. A rough translation but in the original Vulcan…it suggested much more. A sponsor, advisor, guardian. Someone appointed to that duty by one's own father. And it suggested more besides…

"T'Pol?"

She blinked.

And the warm light of the room was gone.

She stood in darkness. Darker than the world outside, beyond the door. There at least the streetlight casts a false light on the world. Here, though…

She looked around, startled.

Still inside the church, but…in darkness now. The building she stood in, abandoned. Pews to either side dusty and forgotten. A hymnal or two fallen to the floor, long since rotted away.

She'd…wandered into some abandoned building that _used _to be a church.

And Trip stood in the door, looking at her with concern.

"T'Pol, what are you doing in here?"

She didn't know.

"I…am uncertain…"

"Come on." Trip said, already reaching for her. "Let's get you out here. Before you get us arrested for breaking into…what is this, a church?"

"Yes." She said, a little more confident now. Even as she allowed him to drag her from the place. Back out into the world again.

"Are you alright?" Trip was asking her.

She took a deep breath once her feet were solidly on the ground again.

"Yes." She said, clearly. "I was…thinking. Considering my situation."

He stood before her, searching her face. Worried.

"Are you sure you're…?"

"I'm fine, Trip." She assured him.

Then frowned. And glared at him.

"I told you not to follow me." She said. "In fact, I am certain I was quite clear on that point."

He frowned right back, snorting.

"Well, if you were ever going to give me a spanking, then you missed your opportunity when I was ten. So get over it."

"Nevertheless…"

"Nevertheless, get over it." He said. "Come on, let's get back to the hotel. I think I've got something."

He was already walking away, glancing back to be sure she followed but otherwise not pausing at all.

She moved to catch up, coming alongside. Still quite disapproving of his intrusion and making that clear with a good long look, in case he'd missed that.

"What is it, Trip?" She asked, once she was sure he got the point.

"Dad." He said. "I think I know what he's up to."


	13. Georgia, Helena and Chuck

**Hellenic Police Field Office  
****1414 Alexandrou  
****Palamas, Greece**

Georgia Drakos pushed the photos around on the display table, tapping corners to call up associated information, arranging the windows almost randomly.

Looking them over, taking it all in.

Or seeming to. Not really so much. She focused on Vasilis, sitting across the table from her. Opened her mind, letting her awareness center there.

Listening.

The model of the vehicle, the ligature patterns, everything that _wasn't _at the crime scenes, the narcotic that _had _to have been used but which they couldn't find the first trace of…

It all pointed to a small field of professions who had the access and the knowledge. Law enforcement being one of them.

And she already knew, it was just a matter of letting it come to light.

She waited, listening to Vasilis. Getting comfortable with his thoughts, learning her way around them. And Michael eventually entered the room, bringing them coffee. Georgia waited…until he was about to leave again, back to his review of the autopsy results.

"Michael, hang around a minute." She asked, not glancing up from the photos.

She tapped one of them thoughtfully, bringing it around and dragging the photo out. Enlarging it where Vasilis could see it clearly from his side of the table.

"Detective, give me your impression on this." She said, looking it over intently.

"Hm? What?" Vasilis said, tearing himself away from the report he was going over.

"A lot rage here." Georgia said, curiously. "Facial mutilation, as if he _knew _the victims…but he didn't. All just whores, right? But it's almost as if he knew them…so they were all just substitutes for the one he _really _hated."

Vasilis frowned.

"Yeah, I guess. So?"

"Cut their faces off, while they were still alive." She said, thoughtfully. Propping her elbows up on the table comfortably to peer closer at the photo. "I bet that was…thrilling. Listening to them scream and beg…"

"What's your point?" Vasilis asked, shifting uncomfortably.

"Well, think about it." She said, rubbing her lower lip lightly. "They're begging and screaming…then it gets fun. You're cutting their face right off and they can't do anything about it. Then they're _really _screaming…you can really, truly, _finally _see them for who they are. The real them. Whores, right? Then, eventually, you get to their mouth…cut that off…so what do they sound like then, trying to scream and beg…?"

"So the guy's a sick freak." Vasilis frowned. "We already knew that."

"Right." Georgia nodded, thinking. "Michael's sister's a real slut."

Vasilis blinked.

"I…what?"

Georgia looked over, as if only now remembering he was there. But she was still listening.

"A slut." She explained, jerking a thumb in Michael's direction, where he stood in the door. "Probably slept with half of the Violent Crimes Squad. Makes him just crazy."

She shrugged and smirked. "But what are you going to?"

Vasilis glanced back and forth a bit, between Georgia and Michael…

"Hey, she's blond, right?" Georgia asked suddenly, turning to Michael. "Not really blond, though. She's got blond streaks in there…in fact…"

She turned back to the photos, leaning in to examine them again.

"She'd fit right in here, wouldn't she, Michael?"

"Uh…yeah." Michael said, frowning uncertainly.

Georgia snorted.

"Probably wouldn't mind seeing _that_, would you?"

Michael's eyes flickered…but he caught up quickly enough.

"It'd serve her right." He grimaced. "Whoring around like that…wouldn't be surprised if the bitch got her face cut off. Some sick freak out there…"

"Right, sure." Georgia said, moving the photos around a little more.

Listening.

Vasilis' thoughts began to jumble.

"Take her somewhere…away." Georgia softly, pondering that. "Where no one could hear her scream…no one but you…"

She looked over at Vasilis suddenly, squinting thoughtfully.

"You could probably rape her easy enough, but she'd just enjoy that, right?"

Vasilis shrugged nervously.

"I guess…I don't know…"

"Well, sure." Georgia said. It was obvious. "Of course she would. The face thing, though…she wouldn't enjoy that at all. And the rest of this stuff…genital mutilation and…"

A thought occurred to Georgia. A thought that Vasilis just had…

"Like that farm, back home." She suggested. "What, your uncle owns that, right? No one ever goes there…"

Vasilis flinched.

"How…?"

"But _you've _been there, right?" She said, pressing. "You take good care of that place. Go out there every couple of weeks to tidy up."

Vasilis jerked his attention between the two of them. Georgia still thinking out loud. Michael glaring down at him now, tense.

Standing in the doorway.

And Georgia listened. His thoughts were chaotic and wild now, already panicking a little. Still sure he could figure his way out of this…just had to think quick…

Georgia snapped her fingers, grinning.

"The Petros case, eight months ago." She said. "That's where you got the drugs, right? The stuff…what do you call it?"

And she focused on him.

_Pushing_…

"Paranar-…" Vasilis stuttered.

Before he realized what he'd started to say.

"Paranarcophan." Georgia smiled. "Right."

He made the mistake of trying to stand up. Probably not meaning to run or to fight, just to take to his feet, shocked at what he'd just said. At what was happening all of a sudden.

That was enough for Michael. He tackled him instantly, pounded his face into the display table a few times, had him cuffed and unconscious in about seven seconds.

Her partner kind of had an overabundance of testosterone.

* * *

Two hours of paperwork, one hour debriefing with the local chief, three hours ride back home. Tomorrow, a full day writing up the report.

Michael pulled up in her driveway and they were both a little tired.

"Not a bad day." He said, smirking. And he killed the engine, letting the electronic key rattle a bit when he left it hanging there.

Georgia smiled a little.

"You know…I know what you're thinking." She said.

"You know what _everybody's _thinking." Michael grinned. "How the heck do you _do _that, Georgia?"

She shrugged lightly.

"It's a gift." She smiled. "And, no, I'm not inviting you in for coffee."

Michael leered a little.

"I hate coffee." He said. "I was hoping…"

"Yeah, I know what you're hoping. Keep dreaming, Michael."

He smirked. "Every night, angel."

She had to give him a grin for that one. Just had to.

But she gave him an affectionate pat on the leg.

"See you tomorrow, tiger."

She stepped out of the car and he didn't leave until she walked through the door and closed it behind her.

Not out of any particular sense of chivalry, of course, but simply taking the opportunity to ogle her a bit as she walked away.

Georgia sighed a little when she closed the door behind her. Michael was basically a good guy. More than a little stereotypical and quite the horndog. But not really a bad guy.

She was probably going to end up inviting him in for that coffee eventually. Just a matter of time before they had an especially trying day and she suddenly had _that _bright idea when he dropped her off one night.

Until then, he was a damned good analyst. Exactly what she needed right now.

She was moving up. A real rising star. Twenty-three years old and she'd already made Lieutenant. Just a couple more like that one, crack two or three more impossible cases, and she'd push for that third gold star. And she'd get it.

She'd start laying the groundwork for that tomorrow, in fact.

Then she'd have a desk and a field office of her own. Just a hop, skip and a jump from there.

The world on a plate.

She tossed her purse on the kitchen table, shrugged her jacket off, tossing that on the counter, and she dug into the purse.

Digging out the small thermos there, washing it out in the sink, checking the electronics and replacing the battery with a brand new one.

Had to keep it fresh. That was the key. Can't let the stuff spoil, that'd make for a really bad day.

She was a little tired and it'd been a rough one, so she didn't bother with dinner and all that just yet. She'd go ahead and prep for tomorrow, then see about something to eat. Maybe watch a little t.v. Off to bed whenever, if she didn't just pass out on the couch.

She took the small thermos, snatching the chestnut knife from the knife holder on the counter.

Just because she liked the way that one cut. And looked, really. That little beak on it sure looked nasty. Cut just exactly to the right depth, if you kept it level.

She flipped the panel next to the basement door, thumbing the electronic lock, letting it verify her biometrics and stepping through the open doorway to enter the dark stairwell below.

Not noticing one of the tiny little screws on the cover was missing. It had fallen and bounced onto the thick rug in the living room, practically lost forever now.

Down the stairs, hitting the lights when she reached the bottom.

The girl in the chair lolled her head a little, looking up at her. And she struggled just a little against the ropes binding her wrists together behind the chair, holding her ankles to the legs, her waist to the back rest.

"Georgia…" She croaked, quietly.

Georgia ignored her, twirling the chestnut knife around out of the way to twist the cap off the thermos with her other hand. But she did smirk a little.

"How long are you going to keep me here?" The girl asked.

She didn't answer, she just stepped over the devil's trap burned into the floor to reach and pull the girl's sleeve away from her wrist.

"Don't you love me anymore, Georgia?"

She smirked a little more at that, because that was pretty funny.

"Oh, I love you to bits, Helena." Georgia said.

The girl blinked, her eyes as black as night now. Black as the dead of space.

"And I'm just going to love _you _to bits, Georgia." She smirked right back. "When I get out of here."

Georgia reached and cut the girl's wrist with the knife, thermos already in place to catch the blood as it pulsed out.

"You just keep telling yourself that, bitch." Georgia said, smirking.

"Something's going to go wrong, eventually." Helena said. "An earthquake, maybe? Hope no one breaks in and pokes around in the basement…"

"You're going to run out of blood before that." Georgia said, sealing the thermos now.

Letting the wrist pulse freely as she stood back up again, to slow and stop on its own.

"Especially considering how terribly _wasteful _you are." Helena observed, smirking.

Georgia smiled and winked at her.

"Demons are a dime a dozen." She said, flicking the knife to the side to sling off the excess there. "I passed _three _on the street today."

"Like rats." Helena said. "I saw three of those down here today."

"I doubt it."

"Oh, it's true. What if I managed to give one of them a little nudge? Just a little…_suggestion_."

Georgia grinned. "Not while you're sitting there you won't."

"There's always that earthquake to hope for." Helena continued. "Maybe the city decides to inspect your plumbing."

"Well," Georgia, mocking. "Let's hope that happens soon…"

"Maybe some hunter breaks in here while you're at work."

"Goodnight, Helena." She smiled, patting her cheek affectionately. "I've got a big day tomorrow. Meeting with the Major, so try not to keep me up tonight, alright? I might get a little grumpy…"

"Maybe we made a deal." Helena smirked. "Maybe he's standing behind you with a shotgun right now."

Georgia chuckled.

"Right. Sleep tight, Helena…"

"Maybe he already broke the trap."

Georgia's eyes narrowed and she snorted.

And she glanced down, despite herself…

The devil's trap was broken.

The outer circle gouged out in the back, just behind the chair. Where she hadn't noticed until now.

Her eyes snapped open wide…and Helena was alright rising to her feet, smirking wickedly. Ropes snapping away like tissue paper…

Georgia gasped…

But the man standing behind her shot her before she could even get through that first, short thrill of terror.

Shot her in the head, with a shotgun.

* * *

The man stepped out of the stairwell, into the kitchen, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Placing the shotgun on the counter, opening the door to the shelf above, where he'd stashed the incendiary explosives.

The door didn't stay shut for very long.

It launched right off its hinges, slamming across the kitchen to nearly shatter against the refrigerator.

Helena was there, fists balled at her sides, face contorted with disgust and fury. Slapping the door angrily aside when it threatened to bounce back on her, sending it flying off into the dining room to break a couple of windows.

"_You son of a bitch!"_

The man smirked.

"I've been stuck down there for two months!" Helena snarled. "And you just blow her fucking head off?!"

He retrieved the package from the shelf, shutting the cabinet door. Placing it on the counter to flip the switch and set the timer counting down.

"The deal was…" He said, picking up the shotgun again. "I set you free, you deliver a message. Don't remember nothin' about sittin' around for a few hours while you got your revenge."

"You knew I was going to rip that bitch apart…!"

"Don't give a damn." He said, firmly. "We got a deal. Go do your part."

Helena stepped closer, snarling.

"Maybe I'll just rip _you _apart, you piece of shit!"

"Jeez. Language." The man scowled. "What are you, twelve?"

"You mother fu-…!"

"A deal." The man said, forcefully. "Do your part or I'll send your ass back to hell."

Helena's eyes narrowed…

"You want to try me?" He said, tossing up his brow at that. "When we've got a deal you ain't holding up your end of? I got a shotgun right here…"

"Fine. And screw you, Chuck." Helena snapped. "I'll deliver your message. And I'll see you again, you can count on that."

He winked at that.

"Right back atcha."

Helena spared him one more infinite scowl of disgust and fury…then tossed her head back angrily.

Black smoke pouring from her mouth while her body convulsed.

Until the smoke was eventually gone and Helena collapsed to the kitchen floor in a heap. Laying there, breathing shallow, pale from the blood she'd lost. Staring up at the man in terror.

He sighed a little, then stepped over to her.

"Sorry." He said. "Reckon you've been through a rough time…"

"_Kill me." _Helena whispered. And her eyes were already losing focus.

The man frowned slightly.

"Darlin'…all the blood you lost…you're already good as gone."

"_Please."_

He considered her for a moment, but nodded soon enough.

"Alright."

The shotgun still had three rounds left in it. He used two, just to be sure. Girl'd been through enough already.

He sighed when it was done and stepped back over to the kitchen counter. A quick look at the countdown display on the package…he had about twenty seconds before the parathermite ignited and the whole place went up.

So it was time to move on to the next target.

He reached for the comm in his pocket, flipping it open to make the call.

"_Erickson."_

"I'm ready, doc. Get a bead on me."

"_Alright, Tucker. Just a moment. This is four times already, though. We're really pushing our luck…"_

"Just a couple more, Emory, then we're done."

"_I suppose I don't want to know what you're up to, do I?"_

Charles snorted a little.

"No, you really don't, doc." He said.

"_I can't begin to tell you how dangerous this is…"_

"You owe me one, doc. And seeing as how you got a free guinea pig for your little gadget, I don't reckon you've got cause to complain."

"_Well, let's hope we don't turn you inside out. Transporting in three…two…one…"_

Blue light sparkled in the air around Charles Tucker, until it swarmed in on him. Whining lightly as it noted and recorded everything, right down to the quantum level. Position and direction of every single subatomic particle determined and fixed, kiloquads of data perfectly recorded.

All of it reduced quickly to its pure energy form, streaming across the ocean to the pattern buffer eight thousand kilometers away. Stored there briefly before being sent on its way again.

Off to Las Vegas and the last target.

The package detonated only a moment later and the house burned, leaving only the charred remains of Georgia and Helena, and nothing at all of what had truly happened here.


	14. Midnight Hunter

**Econo Lodge  
****Saint George, Utah  
****0100 hours**

T'Pol tilted her head, examining the page Trip had removed from the journal.

"I don't see it." She admitted.

"Huh." He said. "Sharp as your eyes are, I figured you would."

"Perhaps the word 'disengage' obscures it. It is written large, across the entire page."

Trip reached for the paper, holding it up to the light once he had it.

"Yeah, probably." He said, squinting at it. "But, anyway, there's a few different ways to do it. If it was blank you could just rub it with an old pencil nub or a piece of charcoal. Or you can run an electrostatic charge through it, sprinkle some really fine black powder over it. The impressions gets charged differently, so it shows right up. Or sometimes you can even just hold it up to the light like this, but, yeah, that word gets in the way, you're right…"

"Trip, how were _you _able to see it?"

"Oh." He said. "Well, I just downloaded an app."

She was surprised enough that her eyebrow arched before she could even tell it to, and he caught her look after a moment, smirking at her for it.

He fished his personal PADD out of his pocket, holding it up to the paper, smoothly snapped a picture…tapped a few buttons on the PADD…

Then leaned over to show it to her, grinning.

"SpyEye." Trip said. "It's this cool little app for kids. Write a secret message, flip back about three or four pages where you can't even see the impression anymore, palm that off to your super secret spy buddy…then they use the app to scan it. Picks it right up, even when _you _can't see it."

T'Pol took the PADD from his hand, holding it up to review the picture. 'Disengage' was still there across the page, obscuring it, but she could see it was a list of some sort…

Trip came around behind her.

"Hit the options there." He said, peering over her shoulder, pointing at the screen.

She went to work, quickly figuring out how to eliminate 'disengage' from the picture altogether…

"Tada!" Trip breathed. "There you go."

It was a list of names. Five of them.

"You're father wrote this list on the previous page in the journal?" She asked, to clarify. "And you were able to reveal it on _this _page?"

"Yeah, nothing to it."

"How did you know to look?"

"He tore it out." Trip said, shrugging. "Left a little bit of paper there, so you could tell there was page missing right before."

She looked back at him, over her shoulder.

"That is impressive, Trip." She acknowledged.

He grinned widely at that.

"Well, that's why you brought me along." He said, smiling back at her.

It suddenly became…uncomfortable. Unusual.

He was standing very close to her and she became acutely aware of the hand he'd placed at her waist at some point. And his face was close to hers…

She hadn't even noticed.

The hand, that is. That he'd touched her at all and with such familiarity…and she hadn't consciously taken notice of it when he had.

Absolutely impossible for anyone else in the universe. Perhaps Charles Tucker…but his touch she certainly _would _have noticed instantly, if not with any immediate, instinctive rejection.

He'd touched her intimately and she accepted it without so much as a thought…

Trip sensed the discomfort now though, whether hers or his she couldn't tell. He pulled away casually before she could even determine how she meant to respond herself.

"So, uh…I looked at the names…I mean, I borrowed your laptop." He said.

T'Pol watched him as he moved away, over to the bed where her laptap sat waiting, sitting down there to pull it up and give it his attention.

Taking his attention decidedly _away _from the odd moment they'd just shared.

"Now, most of those names…the news isn't good." He said. "The first two, dead in the last twenty-four hours. Still waiting for confirmation on the next two. Got the fifth over the net easy enough and nothing seems to have happened to her."

T'Pol returned her attention to the list, revealed on the picture on Trip's PADD now. Because she suddenly realized…

"I recognize one of these names." She said.

"Two." Trip said. "Take another look."

She cocked her head slightly, reexamining the list…

Yes, of course. Robert C. Palmer. She knew him as _'_Bobby' Palmer. Gabrielle Sousa she recognized already.

"The third and fourth are hunters." She said, looking over at him again. "And the other three?"

"Dunno." Trip shrugged. "Just regular folks, I guess. Amelie Dubois was shot in the head by a sniper yesterday morning in France. Nothing to go on there but sketchy news reports. Yegor Pokrovskaya…car accident earlier today down in Panama. At least that's what they thought, until they did a field autopsy and figured out someone walked up to the wreck and shot him in the chest a couple of times."

"Bobby and Gabrielle?"

Trip frowned.

"Made a couple of calls, but…no one's heard from them." He said. "Of course, that doesn't really mean anything."

She looked back at the list.

"The fifth? Georgia Drakos?"

"A cop in Greece. A Lieutenant with the Hellenic Police, Violent Crimes Squad. Nothing on her but her name in a few headlines, which, remind me to get murdered in Greece if I ever do. She's apparently hot stuff."

T'Pol frowned her disapproval at _that_.

"You mean she is attractive."

Trip blinked, surprised a little.

"Uh…no, I mean she's apparently real good at her job." He explained. "Although, yeah, she is now that you mention. But I just meant if I ever manage to get myself murdered by a serial killer, like a normal person, I'd hope the guy at least gets caught."

"I see. I will keep that in mind."

Trip chuckled at that.

"Right." He said. "So dad has a list of these people's names, with home addresses and even geographic coordinates on their homes. Longitude, latitude _and _elevation, right down to the meter."

T'Pol gave _that _a curious eyebrow.

"Did he intend to hack a defense satellite and order an orbital strike?"

Trip actually laughed at that.

"I don't know." He laughed. "But it is a little weird."

"And two of the five are dead in the last twenty-four hours." T'Pol said, drawing attention back to that fact. "So his interest becomes obvious."

"Exactly. Something's after these people."

"And if he intends to protect them, then it can be assumed he left here so abruptly in order to do that." T'Pol said. "Bobby and Gabrielle are the most readily available. Where were they last known to be?"

"Bobby's on a hunt right next door, in Vegas." Trip said. "Dusty heard from him just a few hours ago, but nothing since. Of course, he's _hunting_, so…"

Trip just shrugged.

"As far as Gabrielle…"

T'Pol nearly startled with the PADD in her hand suddenly…started laughing.

"Uh…that's a call." Trip said, gesturing at it.

T'Pol stared at the PADD, alarmed.

That was…the sound of a baby laughing, set to a thumping, rhythmic beat, cycled and mixed…

It was very humorous. She had to suppress the impulse to humor herself, once she identified what she was hearing. The baby's laughter was quite infectious.

"Trip, what is this?" She asked, uncertainly.

"That's a call. You mind…?"

She handed it over without delay, almost relieved when he stopped the musical baby-laughter by answering the comm.

"Yeah." Trip said, sparing her an odd look.

Giving her the opportunity to realize she was staring at him, almost horrified.

He stiffened quickly, though.

"When?"

He raised a hand, running his fingers through his hair fretfully.

"Yeah, I know…right…I guess dad didn't go there."

He looked back at her again and she knew already, from the look on his face.

"Thanks, Dusty."

He thumbed the comm closed. And sighed.

"Gabrielle." He said. "Local PD found her in her hotel room in Mexico. Suicide, looks like. Shot herself in the head."

T'Pol doubted that immediately.

"That is unlikely, considering the circumstances."

"Yeah, I know." He said, gritting his teeth. "Where the hell is dad? He can't have gotten to all of them in time. They're all over the world. He had to have gone after Bobby, right?"

"Trip…this does not seem to be the work of any supernatural agency or creature." She said, worriedly. "These people were shot. All of them, so far."

Trip was already brooding.

"Yeah, I know. Funny how _that's_ actually scary."

* * *

Trip finally managed to get some sleep by roughly 0200. T'Pol stayed up to meditate. They were up again little more than five hours later, at the crack of dawn.

They settled accounts with the hotel quickly, T'Pol actively dissuading Trip from accompanying her into the building to do so. Going to the front desk herself to turn in the passkey, claiming it best not to reveal a Human and Vulcan had shared a room together all night.

Which was fine. He sat in the bug and hit the net instead.

She'd be a minute with that.

Nothing on any work by 'T'Pol'…but he got hits on 'T'Polly' all over the place. The search engine she had on her laptop was very helpful like that.

He wasn't about to drop ten whole credits on a _book _though, nor was he about to leave an entire book downloaded on T'Pol's laptop…so he wiped the history clean, accessed his own PADD and found a nice little excerpt for free online. 'T'Polly's' publisher doing their level best to convince him he just _had _to own a copy of…

'_Midnight Hunter.'_

A…romance novel?

…

…the hell? Really?

'_Betrayed and abandoned, hunted by demons and former colleagues alike, T'Sha has no one that she can trust anymore. Only Taylor, the one man who's stood beside her through it all. Her last link to sanity, to the real world…but what passionate reward will he demand for his loyalty? And dare she pay that price?'_

Was…this a joke? T'Pol playing some kind of elaborate prank here?

He thumbed the button, opening the text in a new tab…

T'Pol opened the door and climbed in, removing her cowboy hat and placing it precisely on the dashboard before reaching to start the bug.

Pausing to look over at him curiously.

"You have something new?" She asked, eyeing his PADD curiously.

"Nah." Trip said, distracted. "Just surfing the net."

She shut the door and started the bug, pulling out of the parking lot and out onto the highway without further delay.

On their way out of Utah, on to Nevada. Las Vegas, where they hoped to find Bobby Palmer before it was too late.

T'Pol drove, giving that all the required attention, sparing everything else for her own contemplations.

And Trip read a free online excerpt from a supernatural romance novel.

* * *

"_Focus on me." He said. "Let me in. Use me, T'Sha."_

_It was not difficult at all now. She need only focus on what he was doing, focus on his touch. His fingers on her neck and on her shoulders, sending comfort and the sense of his presence._

_She almost couldn't believe it was working. It shouldn't be working, not with a Human, but he was there. She could feel him, on her skin and on her soul. All along the most intimate pathways, even within her heart. _

_He was there, comforting her, taking her fear away. Touching her soul._

_It felt good. It felt too good._

_She began to resist, only just began to resist._

"_It's alright." He said, lowly. His breath caressing her ear. "You're safe, T'Sha. I'm with you."_

_She relaxed again. _

_She relaxed all the more, swaying back into him. His chest against her back, drinking in the endless cooling assurance of it. _

_She trembled still, the fear still trying to seduce her, still trying to worm its way around…find her heart…destroy her…_

_But she was safe with him. _

_His hands moved, spreading their cooling touch to her neck, to her shoulders. She nearly tensed when she felt him move the shirt away, but her own fingers served her well. Moving of their own accord to free the clasp at her neck, to pave the way for him._

_Her shoulders free, his hands, rough and strong, caressing her there…_

_But she tensed again. _

_It was too much, too far. She had to stop this. It was becoming inappropriate._

"_It's alright." Taylor whispered. "I'm with you, T'Sha. It's almost over."_

_Over…?_

_The curse. Of course, the curse. A few more minutes to midnight, then it would be broken. Her emotional controls would return, the curse dispelled. _

_But anything could happen in a few minutes. Anything could happen in only one._

_The fear pour through, around and past all her defenses, overwhelming his distraction._

"_Taylor," She gasped. "I'm…afraid…"_

"_It's alright. I'm here, I won't let you go."_

_His voice was strong and certain. His hands on her shoulders, on her neck…the cool firmness of his chest supporting her…his voice and his breath on her ear…_

_She closed her eyes and focused. Focused only on him, on his touch, on his presence. The fear was false, it would pass. She need only endure. Just a little longer, then midnight would come and the curse would be broken. She was safe with him._

_She ached inside and her knees were weak, her breathe growing ragged. She trembled and shivered under his touch, sensing him even still. She sought him more, focused more. On him, accepting him._

_It wasn't helping, it was only getting worse. Her skin tingled and goose bumps raised on her arms, her breathing growing more ragged. The heat of it was becoming unbearable. She bit her lip, seeking some sense of relief, some sense of control…even the illusion of that being welcome now. _

_Her stomach fluttered and she was hungry…_

_Ravenous._

_And…damp, slippery…there, where she should not be. _

_This was not fear that she was feeling._

_Her eyes sprang open and she looked, there at the digital clock on the wall…_

_Midnight had come and gone._

* * *

Trip was staring at her.

He'd been doing that for a while, she realized. She wasn't sure how long, but a least half a minute.

She looked over at him.

And he was looking away by then, of course. Looking out the window, rubbing his thumb across the edge of the PADD in his hand.

She cocked her head a bit, sparing a quick glance at the road ahead before looking back.

"What's wrong?" She demanded.

He looked over, sparing her a false smile for a moment.

"Nothing." He said.

And he was back to gazing out the window…

"Something is disturbing you. What is it?"

He shrugged, not bothering to look this time.

"I'm just thinking, T'Pol."

She looked at his PADD, still in hand.

That was obviously the culprit.

"Did Tali contact you?"

He jerked his attention back at her then.

"What? No. Why?"

"You're disturbed." She said. "It has something to do with what you were reading. Has she ended your relationship?"

"T'Pol…" He said, frustrated. "I thought Vulcans didn't ask personal questions or…_pry _like that. Why do _you _always do it?"

"We are family. It is appropriate to pry. What is wrong?"

"Nothing." He said, more firmly now.

He was at risk of becoming irritable already. So she frowned at him.

"Trip, if there is something troubling you…you realize I am available for you to verbalize your feelings about it, don't you? We are family, as I've said. That is acceptable. That is healthy for you, in fact."

"What about you?" He countered.

"I am Vulcan. It is healthy for me to suppress disturbance."

"But I'm supposed to talk about what's bothering me, though?"

"I may not speak comfortably and openly about the emotions I suppress, but you are already aware of them. I do not hide my disturbances from you."

"What are you talking about? You _never _say what you're feeling."

"I just said that. But I do not hide my need to suppress those things. Not from you, because I trust you. You witnessed this only last night."

Trip clamped his mouth shut then.

Because, yes, he supposed he had.

"In fact," T'Pol added. "I _did _reference what I was feeling at certain points. And I openly referred to the desire to break things and injure people when I left the room. I would not do that with anyone else."

"What about dad?" He asked.

_Before _he stop himself from saying that insanely stupid thing.

"What about him?"

"Never mind."

"You're asking whether I shared my emotions…?"

"Just never mind, T'Pol."

T'Pol stared.

At the back of his head, because he was looking out the window again.

And it occurred to her that she didn't have time for this. Much as Trip had said about the scarecrow, she simply didn't have time for this.

She made her decision. Following his example, ironically enough.

She slowed the bug and turned the wheel, pulling off onto the shoulder of the highway. The bug vibrating over the rumble strips, off onto the gravel.

Coming to a stop there.

Trip just frowned at the dashboard while she glared at him. Then he turned to face her.

"Really? Are we really going to do this now?" He asked.

"Yes." She said. "Get out."

He blinked, astonished.

"Wha…? _Get out?"_

"Yes. Get out of the bug."

"You're kicking me out on the side of the damned highway?"

"No, I am getting out with you, but you are getting out first. And, yes, we are doing this now."


	15. Forget Anna Hadley

She reached and opened her door, but she didn't step out yet. She glared at him instead.

He would get out first, that is how this would happen. She was not going to wait for him any longer. It was time to force matters.

He struggled for a moment, looking for an argument to make. A way to assert himself here again, but he found nothing. So he jerked the door open and stepped out.

And she met him on the far side of the bug, away from the traffic on the highway.

"What?" He demanded, when she came to face him.

She followed his example still, wasting no time. Getting to the heart of the matter here.

"I have little time." She said. "Weeks at the most, days at the least. I must find your father soon."

"Yeah, I know, T'Pol…"

"Not only that, but I have resolved to settle certain matters before my time comes again."

"Like what?"

"Like you." She said, fiercely. "I've grown weary of your bitterness and resentment. You don't even understand what you're angry about."

"If I'm angry, it's because…"

"It's because I had sexual relations with your father." T'Pol said. "And because I formed an intimate relationship with him. I took your mother's place, as a mate, where I should not have, but you don't understand why I did that."

"I don't need to…"

"You need to stop talking and listen to me."

Trip's jaw tightened, and he glared.

"Are you telling me to shut up?"

"Yes, I'm telling you to shut up."

He blinked.

"I…"

"_Shut up."_

His mouth opened.

She glared, warningly.

And yes, he was angry, frustrated; but he would suppress that now. It was time for _him _to do that now.

He did and quite admirably, in fact. Gritting his teeth a little but actually controlling his impulsive need to express himself.

She waited a moment longer, until it could at least be said that he'd shut up again.

"I will speak and you will listen." She said, firmly. "If you have something to say then you will save it until I am done. If it needs to be said, then you may say it then. If it is lost in the meantime, then it is unimportant and need not have been said. Understood?"

He opened his mouth.

"Do not speak. Nod." She clarified.

Trip turned away, taking a deep breath and sighing out over the open scrublands bordering the highway.

Then turned his head to her and nodded deliberately.

She folded her hands at her back and steeled herself.

"I loved you father." She said. "I trusted him and admired him."

She waited, testing him. He did not speak.

He listened. Not looking at her, staring intently at the ground nearby instead, but he listened.

So she continued.

"I want to be sure you understand the gravity of that, Trip." She said. "How many Vulcans have you heard say that they loved anything at all? It is not an impossible thing for a Vulcan to say, but you have never heard it except only from me, because we are family. Only with family can such a thing be said."

She paused a moment, but he was still listening. So she continued.

"You don't understand _pon'farr_." She said. "You cannot understand it. It is _good _that you cannot, be grateful for that. You do not suffer it and that is enviable. It comes and it destroys everything. It rips _everything _apart. It can be expected to come at least twenty times in the average Vulcan's life. As many as thirty times, if one lives long enough."

She paused, gathering her strength again. This was the difficult part.

"I was twenty-eight when my first time came." She said. "I was already living with your parents, studying at the university. There were surrogates available at the compound and I availed myself of that. It was a nightmare beyond anything you can imagine, for reasons you _cannot _imagine. But I survived and I endured, because I am Vulcan. And because he was Vulcan, he did as well. _That _is the way it should be done.

"It came again when I was thirty-five, when you were two years old. Your mother was gone and your father hunted. I cared for you, Trip, and I protected you, because that was what I was there to do. I spoke with your father about it and he brought me to the compound in Austin, Texas. He left a nest of vampires to do this and three people died because he was required to escort me there and to care for you while I was away. And so my _pon'farr _killed three people and forced me to abandon you.

"When I was forty-two, on Arkali, I was skilled enough to fight. I hunted with your father, because you were old enough to care for yourself. You know what we did there and you came upon that when you were not old enough to understand what you saw. So my _pon'farr _scarred the mind of a child I cared for and it distressed the man that I admired most. These were my family, the only family I had, and now both of them learned to fear me.

"On Alpha Centauri, it came again when I was forty-nine. We were trapped in the mountains when it came for me. It came and it demanded sacrifice. I gave your father to it. I sacrificed him to it and he volunteered for that, because there was no other choice but to die myself. He volunteered because he did not understand, just as you do not.

"And Trip," She said, speaking more clearly now. "That was a mistake. I should have known better. I _would _have known better, if it had not already come upon me and warped my reason, twisted my mind. Knowing now the price that I would pay for that, I would rather I died instead."

Trip was surprised at that. And he looked at her, astonished.

"I would." She said. "I am nothing but a source of pain to your father now, and even you despise me, where once you loved me. And your mother…I loved her and I admired her as well. Yet I betrayed her memory and _used _the honor of her mate against him, for my own convenience. I would rather die than that had ever happened. Rather have died than _this _had come to pass.

"I loved him, Trip. I admired and desired him, because he was strong and passionate. Driven, as I was, for vengeance. I thought…it was the logical thing to…

"I tried to be his mate. I thought…I knew that he could not…"

She paused for a moment, to center herself again. Swallowing bitterly.

"He was Human. I understood that what I had done…what _we _had done…would change everything. It could not be ignored and…I knew that Humans do not suffer _pon'farr_. They have nothing like it. All sexual behavior bonds Humans to one another, to one degree or another. Usually to the degree that they care for each other…and your father and I cared for one another already.

"I knew that he was connected to me after that. It changed everything and that could not be undone. So I tried to fix it. I tried to be his mate, as I thought he required...but I was not able. The bond did not come to me as it did to him and I was unable to be what he required me to be. So I failed him and he was hurt. And my _pon'farr _had drawn blood yet again.

"So now it returns, this year. To rape and ravage and destroy again. Before it does…I have to find your father and try to express my regrets to him. Try to find some measure of peace to share with him. And I expose myself to you now, so that you can chose whatever you will do. To accept my repentance or continue to hate me. That is your choice.

"Then I will go to Austin and wait for it to come for me again, and when that is done, I will be done. I will continue to hunt, because that is all there is left for me now. But if I am to have no family and be alone, then that is as it should be."

Trip listened, but she was finished speaking. So now she waited.

She was Vulcan. Waiting she could do quite easily enough. She stood, hands folded at her back, watching him. Turning to consider the scrub off the highway and the low hills to the north when he didn't respond.

Waiting for him to accept her or reject her, as he would. She was prepared to wait as long as necessary.

"Why didn't it work?" He asked, after a long while.

T'Pol examined that, trying to understand the question before she answered.

"The relationship between your father and I?" She ventured.

"Yeah."

She hesitated.

"Trip, that is difficult for me to answer."

"You don't have to."

"No, I do, but it is difficult…"

"T'Pol, I don't know any other way to say this, but…I remember you guys screwing like bunny rabbits for the first six months there. It just about drove me nuts. Even after that, for the next year and a half, right up until I left…"

"Trip, please." She said.

"Well, I'm just saying. I don't get how you say the relationship didn't work."

"I am Vulcan, Trip." She said. "Perhaps you are too young to understand, but…I am Vulcan. Sex and passion, these things are easy. Loosen control of your emotions a little, that is all that is required. Intimacy and vulnerability…those things are not so easy."

"It's kinda crap without that, T'Pol."

"Yes, and that is precisely the point."

Trip sighed, rubbing his chin in frustration.

"So why bother?" He asked. "Why'd you even bother, then?"

"I thought that he needed me. That was all that I knew to do and all that I could do. But it seems that I was wrong. Apparently Charles Tucker doesn't need anyone."

"So he just used you?"

"I don't know. It doesn't matter. I betrayed logic and that is why this family is broken."

"Okay, _what _logic? How exactly did you betray logic? What do you mean by that?"

T'Pol hesitated again.

For long enough that Trip became somewhat amazed. Was it _that _difficult a question? For _her?_

"Trip…he was a father to me. As much a father as he could be, without any form of family bond between us, but nevertheless. To attempt to change our relationship so dramatically from that…failure was practically assured from the beginning."

"So why did you? I mean, did you love him? I don't get it."

"Trip, I broke my family. I was trying to fix it. I was young and simply didn't know what I was doing."

"You're fifty-six years old, T'Pol."

"I was forty-nine then. That is young for a Vulcan. I was older than he was, chronologically, yes. Older in certain areas of experience, more mature mentally and intellectually. But emotionally? Psychologically? In regards to simple judgment? I was younger than _you _were at the time in those respects. I still am in some ways."

Trip rubbed the back of his neck, sighing loudly. Somewhat frustrated, but thinking it through.

"Okay." He said. "You realize I'm probably just not gonna really understand this without having actually gone through it, right?"

"Yes, I realize…"

"But basically, if you boil it all down, your _pon'farr _comes around, messes everything up, and you were just trying to fix it. So you jumped in the sack with your _adopted father_ and, amazingly enough, that doesn't seem to have worked out real well for anybody."

She gazed at him, questioningly, until he saw that.

"I was being a little caustic and sarcastic." He explained.

She nodded.

"Then, yes." She said.

"Okay." He said, nodding. "And this was pretty hard for you to talk about, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it is very difficult."

"Right." He frowned. "That's what I was afraid of."

She nodded.

But…wait, what?

"What?" She asked. "What do you mean?"

Trip sighed.

"This was hard for you." He said. "Humiliating. So now I have to expose myself to _you _now, so I can tell you where you're wrong."

"How am I wrong? I'm _not _wrong…"

"T'Pol, what do you think I'm angry about? Why do you think I'm…so…" He asked.

Practically grasping at the air around him, trying to find and seize the descriptive he was looking for…

"Acting like such an ass." He finally decided.

"Because I took your mother's place unjustly." She answered. "The place of your father's mate, betraying her memory…"

"I don't even _know _her." Trip insisted.

T'Pol could only stare. What did _that _mean?

Trip saw that she didn't understand.

"T'Pol," He sighed, frustrated. "I don't remember her. I don't _have _a mother. I was six months old when she died."

"Trip, you _have_ a mother." She insisted, fiercely. "You _had _a mother. And she died trying to protect you…"

"Well, I never knew her. I don't know who you're talking about. What do I care if you slept on her side of the bed? I never even met the woman."

"Trip…" She said, almost angrily.

"No." He said, firmly. "That's you feeling guilty, T'Pol. That's not me. I never met Elaine Tucker. Don't know her, never met her. I can only be so loyal to someone I've only ever heard you and dad harp on and on about for ten damned years…"

"Trip, stop_ talking_." T'Pol warned.

"No." He said. "You know why I'm acting like such an ass? Because I was sixteen years old, T'Pol. And you think Humans don't have any kind of _pon'farr_? Well, God are _you _wrong. It's called puberty, and maybe it isn't as intense and it doesn't just come around every seven years for a week of hell…but it's just as bad. It kinda hangs around. Constantly. For _years_, T'Pol. We don't get a break from it until it's _done_."

Trip was scowling at her. But he turned that out to the dust and scrub before it could truly threaten to disturb her.

"So here's Trip, sixteen years old. Going through his own fun little _pon'farr _for the last few years already, and still a few more to go. And who's the only woman in the whole world that he can latch onto, T'Pol?"

He frowned bitterly over at her again.

"That's right." He said, as if she'd answered. "The one that just jumped into his dad's bed, where they spend the next few months keeping him up all night. When we're not all out in the woods on some alien planet trying to get ourselves eaten or tortured to death that is. Or massacring the hell out of something ourselves.

"You went to college, T'Pol. Took a few basic Human psychology courses. Why don't you take a shot at telling me what that'd do to a kid's head?

"So, yeah. I'm acting like an ass a little. I guess you'll just have to excuse me. I've barely seen you in five years and now all of a sudden I'm stuck in a cargo bug with you for hours at a time, or sharing a _hotel room_, for God's sake. I have no _idea _how to feel about you, T'Pol. Half the time I'm an adult, a grown man. Everything's fine and I understand the situation. It's not a problem.

"The other half? I'm that dumbass sixteen year old kid again and I'm just about half out of my mind because…"

He…actually _growled _then.

"I never had a chance to _adjust _to this, T'Pol." He said. "I don't _know _you. I know you about as well as I know Elaine Tucker. Half the time you're that impossibly beautiful, painfully sexy, exotic, erotic, alien princess that I fell in _lust _with when I was a kid. The one my father _stole _from me, like you belonged to me or something.

"The rest of the time you're practically a stranger. Someone that I somehow know _everything _about, but I've never even met before. Who the hell are you? How am I supposed to feel about you? What kind of relationship are we supposed to have here?

"I don't know. Beats the hell out of me. So I'm a little irritable and defensive sometimes. Pardon me all over the goddamned place."

T'Pol stared, her jaw dropped.

Shocked.

Unable…to process that. Any of it.

Trip breathed deep and huffed then, sighing harshly as his shoulders slumped.

"Dammit." He said, gesturing harshly. "See? That's what I'm talking about. I was trying to just explain…then I'm dumping all over you like it's your fault. That's that dumb kid, that's not me."

She finally managed to tear her eyes away from him, to stare out over the brush. And she was still rather shocked, unable to focus very well.

Just beginning to internalize what he'd said to her.

When he suddenly laughed quietly, throwing all of that right out the window. She obviously _didn't _understand anything at all, not even a little bit. There was nothing here humorous that she could discern.

"You know, this is kinda funny." He chuckled.

So, yes. She obviously was not capable of comprehending any of this.

"You seduced my dad, he banged the babysitter and I've got the hots for my sister. Forget Anna Hadley, _we're _the ones with the messed up family."

So…no, _that_ much she understood.

"Yes." She said. "We are a messed up family."

He snorted at that, still humored.

"This is all my fault." T'Pol said. "I have done this…"

"Wow, are you kidding? Way to miss the point, T'Pol."

"This _is _my…"

"No, it's not. You should have never tried to have that kind of relationship with dad, he should have never slept with you once your _pon'farr _was over and I should have grown the hell up and _been _a man instead of just pretending to be one. I saw what was going on but I was too wrapped up in my own crap to kick you two in the ass like I should have. We _all _screwed this thing up."

"Trip, I have to _fix _this."

"Jesus, T'Pol. You can't fix this."

"I _have _to."

"Why? You can't. Just forget it."

"Trip…"

"We can't _fix _it, but maybe we can at least bring something _good _out of it."

That startled T'Pol.

She had no idea why, but…that shocked her.

And Trip sensed that right away.

"We've got two days." He said. "Vegas is two hours from here. We get there, find Bobby Palmer and find dad. If we're right, he's there with him. They've probably _left _Vegas if somebody's after Bobby, but we've still got two days to track him down. And when we find him, you can do what you've got to do with him. If we're _really _lucky, maybe we can even get you to Austin before I have to get back to STC."

"How does that bring good from this?" T'Pol asked. "There is no bringing good from this, Trip."

"Have you learned your lesson?" He argued. "The next father figure that comes along, are you gonna jump in the sack with him?"

T'Pol nearly scowled.

"No, I will not jump…"

"Okay. And I've learned mine. When I get back to STC, I'm settling things with Tali. So dad needs to learn _his _damned lesson now. I'll take care of that myself, if _you _don't manage it."

"I…what are you…how are going to…?"

"I'm gonna kick his ass."

"Trip…no, that is not necessary…"

"I'm not asking your permission, T'Pol. He actually is _my _father. You go on ahead and talk to him all you want, but if he doesn't at least tear up a little I'll _make _him say he's sorry. And _mean _it."

T'Pol sought frantically for something…

This was getting out of hand. None of this was what she'd expected here. This was not at all in accordance with her intentions. There were too many unforeseen…

And what was that about Tali? What did _that _mean?

"Trip, what about Tali? I don't understand."

Because maybe that would distract him from…making decisions…without even consulting her first…

"Jesus, T'Pol, if you don't get it, I'm not about _say _it."

"Say what? What about her?"

Trip stared, frowning.

"T'Pol…her name's Tali. She's a beautiful alien princess with a really great set of eyebrows. She doesn't smile, she can do the psychic bond thing a little and she's about as big a slut as they come. She's _Deltan_, for crying out loud. Maybe it just hit me half a minute ago, but I would have figured _you _saw it the second you met her."

T'Pol stared.

What?

"Oh, God. Just never mind."

"Trip…"

"Forget it."

"Wait. Because…?"

"I'm serious. I'm not talking about this anymore."


	16. Sirshos'im and Bobby Palmer

**Las Vegas, Nevada  
****April 16, 2144  
****1000 hours**

Charles 'Trip' Tucker sat in the passenger seat, poring over the research available on the laptop he held. Two separate windows were on the screen, one containing a multitude of tabs, each with various pages of information on five separate individuals. News reports, background checks, some emails from a couple of contacts who had connections of their own…things of that sort.

Trip had appended personal notes onto the pages devoted to Bobby Palmer and Gabrielle Sousa, a few things he already knew, because he'd known them both personally. They were hunters themselves. He and T'Pol had met them, even working with Bobby a couple of times.

On the other window, a complex web was just beginning to form. Just the barest outline of one now, as Trip had just started collating the data. Finding and listing all the common factors connecting those five people.

And the answer was right there. It was obvious. Trip should have already seen it.

Probably had something to do with the laughing baby. The one that laughed in time with the beat. It was a little distracting.

_Thump thump-thump thump, thud-ump, thump thump-thump thump, thud-ump._

Baby laughter, cycled and mixed in there. Didn't last all that long, but it was admittedly pretty hilarious while it did.

It reached the end of the beat…

Silence.

Trip tabbed around the screen again now, before focusing on the pages devoted to Amelie Dubois. She was an orphan, just as all five of them had been so far, to one degree or another. He tabbed over and made some notes on that…

_Thump thump-thump thump, thud-ump…_

Laughing baby.

Eventually…

Silence again.

Bobby Palmer had lost his mother as an infant. All five of them had, only _some _of them losing _both _their parents. Violent deaths in all cases. Dusty's email mentioned that Gabrielle had lost both of hers as well…so Trip tabbed over again, to make a note of that.

The connection was right there. It was staring him right in the face.

_Thump thump-thump thump, thud-ump…_

"T'Pol." Trip suddenly snapped. "I will _break _that thing and throw it _out _the window…"

"Trip, hush."

T'Pol sat over in the driver's seat, but she had the bug on autopilot, rolling down the highway on its own, while she held Tucker's PADD in her hand, barely a foot from her face.

Focused on it. _Intently _focused on it.

Like all the mysteries of the universe were being revealed to her there.

_Thump thump-thump…_

"Are you _trying _to driving me crazy?"

"I'm trying to understand this."

"It's a baby laughing. It's set to a beat. It's funny. It's not that complicated, T'Pol."

"Why do you have this as your chime?"

"Because it's funny."

"But it is not logical."

"It's perfectly logical," Trip assured. "Trust me."

"No. It is a baby laughing, mixed to match a rhythmic beat. It is not indicative of your personality or social status. It does not indicate…"

"It _is _indicative of my personality. I think it's funny."

"_Why _is it funny?"

"Empathy. We're programmed to empathize with little babies. A baby laughs, _we _laugh."

T'Pol frowned at his PADD.

Thumbed the button.

Baby laughing.

_Thump thump-thump thump, thud-ump…_

"T'Pol, it's a way to pick up girls, alright?"

_That _got her attention. She focused back on him now.

"How?"

"Someone comms me, the thing plays, the girl either laughs and asks about it or she hates it. If she laughs, I get her number. If she hates it, I don't. That's it. Okay? Happy?"

T'Pol stared at him.

"That works?" She asked.

"It works."

She stared.

"You have this because it aids you in eliciting romantic interest from females." She said, dubiously. "I find that very difficult to believe, Trip."

"You make a girl laugh, you get her number. If you're a Starfleet cadet, taking command courses, and you like babies, you also get sex."

T'Pol considered that.

"I don't believe you." She decided.

"'Fleet bunnies'. Look 'em up on the net."

T'Pol turned back to his PADD.

"On _your _PADD. Give me mine back."

T'Pol frowned. "Very well."

"Thank you."

"In a moment."

_Thump thump-thump…_

"_T'Pol…"_

"Only once more."

Trip stared now, until the baby-laugh-beat ended again.

"T'Pol…what's the big deal?"

"Trip, this is why I came to Earth in the first place."

_That _surprised him.

"How's that?"

"This is a laughter button." T'Pol explained. "You have a button on your PADD, on your comm, that you can push whenever you want to. When you do, it makes you laugh. More than that, you use it to make other people laugh, and that in order to make females more receptive to contact from you, to engage in romantic exercise. In many cases, even offering sexual favors."

"Uh…okay…so?"

"Trip, that is fascinating. By Vulcan standards, it is practically insane. If you were Vulcan, living on Vulcan, this would be considered evidence that you were dangerously psychotic."

Trip stared.

She turned back to his PADD, considered it…then handed it back to him.

Trip accepted it, frowning at her. Until…

"T'Pol, you're weird." He decided.

"I'm Vulcan." She said. "But I am also not the one with a laughing baby mix for a comm-chime. That is you."

Trip snorted and went back to work on the laptop, pocketing his PADD as he did so.

Bobby Palmer sat in the back of the cargo bug with them, watching all of this. Leaning back now from where he'd been looking over Trip's shoulder, monitoring his research.

He leaned back in the seat and considered these two people for a moment.

He wasn't quite sure what to think, really…

Trip's PADD chimed again, playing the laughing baby mix, and he fetched it out quickly to answer it.

"Trip." He said, listening…

"Dusty, hey. Whatcha got?"

He glanced over at T'Pol and she glanced back.

"Yeah." Trip said. "We're about ten minutes out…"

A hand touched Bobby on the shoulder and he looked over quickly.

Rachel was there at his side, looking down at him, back in the hotel room. He barely blinked before the cargo bug was gone and he was sitting at the table again.

Bobby took a deep breath, glancing around, readjusting himself to where he was…

Hotel room, Las Vegas. Rachel.

Right, got it.

Bobby frowned. "Bad timing. They just got a phone call and now I missed it."

"Yeah, sorry, lover." Rachel smirked. "Did you get anything? You've been sitting there like a catatonic for over an hour now."

"Not much." Bobby sighed. "They don't have the first clue what's going on. Just a list of names. Mine, Gabrielle's, the others…Trip's name isn't on the list, so I don't think he gets it yet."

Bobby started to stand up from the chair…he got about four inches up before his legs gave right out and he plopped right back in the seat.

Rachel looked bemused.

"A little weak in the knees there, Bobby?" She asked.

He sighed wearily. "I'm fine, just…"

"Well, look sharp." She said, taking tapping at the table where he sat. At the controls to the room's entertainment suite.

The news report blared across the room from the viewscreen on the far wall.

"…_where the bodies were discovered yesterday evening. Authorities have determined the fire was intentionally set, using some unidentified form of incendiary explosive. While Major Petros has confirmed the gunshot wound to Lieutenant Drakos' head was not self-inflicted, he refused to speculate on whether her roommate, Helena Stratis, may have been responsible. Unconfirmed sources suggest the initial assumption of murder-suicide has been ruled out and that Stratis herself may have been shot as well…"_

Rachel tapped the table again, shutting the view screen back off.

Bobby sighed, slumping even more deeply than he did already.

"I need sugar water." He said, wearily.

Rachel smirked again, pulling the sleeve of her shirt up a couple of inches.

"Sure you don't just want another hit, Bobby boy…?"

"No." Bobby scowled. "Just get me a drink."

Rachel shrugged, tugging the sleeve back down, covering the scars already on her wrist.

"Fine with me." She said. "But that's four out of six now, and your old friend Chuck seems to be bouncing all over the place."

She strolled over to the kitchen, snatching a glass from the counter.

"I bet he's already in town, Bobby…"

"He can't be working alone." Bobby insisted. "How could he get from France to Panama to Greece, killing three different people, and get back to North America all in one day?"

"I don't know." Rachel said, pouring sugar into the water she'd already filled the glass with. "But my sources insist that's exactly what he's doing."

"Well, they must be wrong. That's not possible."

"Oh, anything's possible, Bobby." Rachel grinned. "You ought to know that."

Bobby sat at the table, too tired even to stand up again. He slumped over, propping his head up in his hands.

Rachel turned her head for a good look at him over her shoulder, over there where he was just about to fall _out _of the chair.

Long, dirty blond hair. Lean muscular build, tattoos all down both arms, sleeveless black tee shirt to show them off. He was usually a bit of a badass, definitely cut from the bad boy mold…

But the poor little guy was pretty tired out right now. And that was a real shame.

She turned back to raise her _other _wrist up to her mouth for a quick bite there. Just enough to get the blood running, dribbling a bit into the sugar water. Rubbing one thumb over the wound to close it up again and sucking the blood stains quietly from her teeth.

She fetched the handy bottle of bourbon from the counter nearby, adding a healthy couple inches of that. Dark enough to hide the blood, harsh enough to hide the taste. Waving one finger over the glass until the concoction stirred itself enough, then bringing it over to Bobby to set it down in front of him.

"Drink up, Bobby boy." Rachel smiled. "We probably want to get moving again, before Chuck shows up."

Bobby reached tiredly for the glass.

And Rachel smirked.

* * *

Trip put the pieces together, sitting in the passenger seat still, parked now just up the street from the local PD.

It was pretty obvious, but he had to go over it a half dozen times just to be sure. He kept digging, finding horrific little points of interest that scared the hell out of him. Until he finally had everything he could get from the information he had and he was ready to scare the hell out of T'Pol now.

She was still sitting in the driver's seat with the other laptop, busily hacking the police department's database to bits. She was pretty efficient though and she had everything she needed from there before he had to wait for very long.

She looked over at him, ready to exchange information…

"You better go first." He said, dreadfully. "You're not going to like what I've got."

She considered that for a moment…but nodded her agreement.

"Very well." She said. "It is a _sirshos'im_. A Vulcan creature from pre-Awakening mythology. It lures victims into the desert to devour their _katra_."

Trip nodded grimly.

"Sound like fun." He said, dryly.

"Seven victims over the last twenty years." T'Pol said. "All displaying unusual injuries somewhere on their bodies, typically one or both hands. Deep bruising combined with mild energy burns. The _sirshos'im _lures its victims away, projecting a thought form of something intriguing. When the victim makes contact with it, their _katra _is violently extracted and transferred to the _sirshos'im_."

"Hence the marks." Trip guessed.

"Yes. I am aware of hundreds having been successfully slain on Vulcan over the past two hundred years, many more prior to that, but this is the first that they have ever appeared on Earth, to my knowledge. They are relatively common on Vulcan, however, in as far as such things can be considered common."

"Some kind of psychic vampire, then."

"Essentially, although it is believed the _katra _they absorb are used to power their own psychic abilities and prolong their lives. It has been reported that when the _sirshos'im _is slain, the _katra _are released. This is typically a violently destructive event, depending on how old the _sirshos'im _is and how many victims it has taken."

"How do you kill them?"

"Interestingly, with ice."

"…ice?"

"Yes. A dagger or other stabbing weapon fashioned from ice, piercing the heart…"

"Frozen water, right?"

"Yes, that is typically what ice refers to."

"So this _sirshos'im _decided it was a good idea to relocate to Earth, where there's ice available in just about every single building on the planet."

"Apparently."

"Well, I can't wait to meet this guy."

T'Pol cocked an eyebrow at that assumption.

"Will that be necessary? I assume our first priority is locating Bobby Palmer."

"Well, Bobby's after this _sirshos'im_, so if we're going to find Bobby then we'll be following the same trail he is…"

"Yes, and considering our luck, we will undoubtedly find it before we find Bobby."

Trip smirked. "Yeah, that's a good bet."

"I wouldn't recommend a hand-to-hand weapon fashioned from ice." T'Pol said, already considering this. "The _sirshos'im _can be expected to release a deadly burst of short-range psychic energy when it dies, expelling the _katra _it has absorbed. We will need some form of ranged weapon or a means of incapacitating it at a distance."

They pondered that for a moment, each turning the matter over in their minds.

"I have a spear in the trunk." T'Pol eventually decided. "We can purchase a simple, portable cryo-freezer, coat the spear head with a thick layer of ice and sharpen it. You can modify the freezer to keep the ice frozen. The stun setting on the phase pistols should work to incapacitate it and we can then use the spear."

"What can we expect from this guy, though?" Trip questioned. "How tough is he gonna be?"

"They have many of the same abilities you find in Human vampires." T'Pol said. "Significantly increased physical strength, durability, speed and sensory acuity. They can also project solid, independently animate thought forms capable of extracting your _katra _on contact."

"So we need to sneak up on a Vulcan vampire and stun him before he knows we're there."

"That would indeed be preferable."

Trip sighed.

"You know, I can't imagine why I ever left this line of work and joined Starfleet. What was I thinking?"

"It does present a challenging hunt." T'Pol agreed. "I'm looking forward to…"

"I was being sarcastic."

"Oh." She said. "I see."

Trip snorted, amused.

"Okay, so we'll do a little shopping before we hit the trail too hard." He said. "But for now…you ready for what _I've _got?"

"Of course."

"Well, tell me if this rings any bells." Trip said, wryly. "All five of these people were born in the month of February, 2121. All of them lost one or both parents, their mother in all cases, exactly six months later, right around midnight."

"Trip, you were born in February…"

"Right, you got it."

"Why is _your _name not on the list?"

"Because dad made the list."

T'Pol thought about that for only half a second.

"Trip, why is he not here protecting you?" She asked. "We assumed he would go to find Bobby Palmer, because he was closer than any of the others on the list. If that is his intention, then he should have contacted you instead."

Trip glowered, worried.

"I don't know. You think we missed him? Maybe he went to Sausalito and we passed him on the highway or something."

"The word on the page, Trip." She reminded him. "'Disengage'. That was left for you, in his journal. He expected you to come there."

"Maybe he figured he could head them off when they came after Bobby. Stop them then before they got to me…"

"Could he know in what order these people would be killed?"

"Well, I…jeez." Trip said, shaking his head. "I don't know _what _the heck is going on here."

"I think we should find Bobby Palmer quickly." T'Pol said. "I expect we will either find your father with him, encounter whoever is murdering these people or even get answers from Bobby himself. It seems the most logical path to take."

Trip ran his fingers through his hair, scratching at the back of his head a bit when that wasn't sufficient.

Then slapped his knee lightly, making his decision. That being to just trust T'Pol's instincts…her logic…because he really had no idea.

"Okay." He said. "Where do we start?"

"Fashion the weapon and have it prepared." T'Pol said. "Have that ready from the beginning. The next logical step being to interview the witnesses associated with the most recent attack. That is what Bobby most likely did and so that constitutes the most readily accessible starting point for tracking him."

"And dad, since you can bet that's what _he's _doing right now."

"Assuming he is even here at all."

"I think that's a logical enough assumption." Trip said. "He disappeared out of that hotel room in Utah right before all these people starting dying. The same people he had a list of home addresses for that he took _with _him when he left. He's got to be tracking one of them down. Bobby was the closest and he's a fellow hunter. Seems pretty cut and dried to me."

T'Pol nodded.

"I agree." She said. "I have the location of the last attack and the identity of the victim. We will begin there."


	17. Family Matters

Trip followed T'Pol off the road, into the desert…and not very far at that.

She stopped there, looking from the PADD in her hand to the ground before her. Back and forth one more time, comparing the spot to the picture on her PADD.

"Here." She said, confidently.

Trip stood with her, looking the area over. Nothing readily apparent and nothing jumped out at him. Just another stretch of sand and light brush, like any other. The police forensics markers weren't even there anymore.

He looked back at the cargo bug, though. They'd parked exactly where the victim's vehicle had been found. It was right over there, not even twenty meters away, but…

He eyed the spot where the body had been found again.

"Okay, why way over here?" He asked, gesturing at the ground. "Why not back at the car, if he was going to just leave the body laying around anyway?"

"The victim is typically lured away." T'Pol said. "Lured to their death by the thought form."

"You said they were animate, though. So if he can move them around, why not just hit him with it? Why lure him around anywhere? He could have whacked the guy with it back at the road."

T'Pol raised a curious eyebrow, recognizing that.

"That is an excellent question." She said. "I have never considered that before."

Trip chewed his cheek a little, thinking that over.

"You think because they have to accept it?" He asked. "Like when you mind meld someone, there's the mutual acceptance thing? You can't force it, right?"

"You _can _force it but it is much more difficult." She said. "It is even possible you may be overcome in the struggle yourself, although I doubt a _sirshos'im _would have that measure of difficulty with most victims. Especially Humans, who have little to no experience with psychic conflict."

"That makes sense, then." He said. "He projects some kind of thought form and the victim walks right over and touches it. They're accepting it. They reach right out and touch it, open to it…then _zap_. A quick kill, no fuss. While if you chase someone around with it, that'd end up being a fight. Too much trouble."

"Yes, I would imagine. Hence the legends of the _sirshos'im _being characterized in that manner, luring victims off the path, into the desert, to steal their _katra_. There is another point that comes to mind, however."

"Yeah? What?"

"Why not _farther _away?" T'Pol wondered. "It is more convenient to lure the victim away, but why only this far? Here, on the side of the road, so close to the vehicle and the highway? There are only seven documented victims over a twenty year period. _Sirshos'im _typically kill much more often than that. To kill with so little discretion would be out of character."

Trip frowned.

"Well, how much like vampires are these things? Maybe they don't have to feed that often. Maybe it really has only killed a few times…"

"No, like vampires they require regular feeding both to prolong their lives and to stave off weakness. They sicken if they do acquire new victims frequently. Once every week being the projected average."

Trip nearly gawked at that.

"Good grief, that's…why? They keep the _katras _they take, don't they? How many do these things need?"

"They will continue to kill and collect victims until they are destroyed. There is no baseline for this. They require new victims, regardless of how many they may already have acquired."

Trip grimaced.

"Jeez, T'Pol, that's…say, once a week, fifty-two weeks a year…that's not just hundreds of victims, that's over a thousand."

"At least one thousand." T'Pol agreed. "This is a desert and the nearby city hosts transients and tourists in abundance. The _sirshos'im _could feed as often as required, but this particular kill…why was it left lying here, right next to the road? The vehicle abandoned here, demanding investigation?"

"I'd say he slipped up, but I'm already getting the impression this guy doesn't slip up. He can't afford to. You don't kill a thousand people over two decades without being pretty slick about it and this _is _the desert. It wouldn't be hard to cover this up. The other cases on file, any of those like this one?"

"None at all. In most of the cases the bodies were discovered in town, but always with indications that an attempt at least was made to hide the body. Those would be the rare exceptions, then. Here it was left only ten paces from the road with the vehicle in full view, immediately at hand. That would quite obviously be investigated, the body certainly discovered."

Trip chewed his cheek again.

"A crime of passion maybe? Lost his cool, killed in anger or something? Panicked, didn't think things through?"

T'Pol considered that.

"Possible, but highly unlikely. The _sirshos'im _is as Vulcan as a vampire is Human. They can be expected not to make emotional decisions. The kill would have been meticulously planned out in advance…"

"Except it obviously wasn't. This guy ticked him off. This was personal or spur of the moment…or both…and it wasn't well thought out."

"Yet the evidence wasn't covered up after the fact, either." T'Pol pointed out. "That could easily have been done. Even if a…'crime of passion', the _sirshos'im _would not have panicked and fled the scene afterward. They would have buried the body and removed the vehicle, at least."

Trip frowned, putting his brain hard at work again, but…

He shrugged.

"Okay, hate to admit it but Human insight and intuition may not cut it here. What's Vulcan logic got for us? This _is _a Vulcan critter."

T'Pol tucked her PADD into her pocket, folding her hands at her back comfortably.

She examined the area carefully, putting her mind to work. Examining all the angles, all relevant data, looking for points…

And cocked an eyebrow up almost immediately, looking over at Trip.

"What?" He asked, instantly.

"_Sirshos'im _do not pass on the curse through blood, as Human vampires do." She said. "They reproduce normally."

Trip didn't get it.

"What's that got…?"

Then he got it.

"_Oooh_." He said, pointing one finger at the scene around him. "It's been twenty years, right? _Sirshos'im _junior is new to the game."

"I believe that is the most logical deduction."

* * *

Bobby led the way out the door, bags in hand to load into the car. He was spry, full of pep.

Full of demon blood, really, though he probably didn't know that.

Rachel figured he might suspect, but this little game had been going on for a while now. He didn't even argue about it anymore.

He tossed the bags in the trunk, stepping aside to eye the area warily. Hand at his back, ready to fetch the plasma pistol there. In case Charles Tucker leapt out of the bushes or something, she supposed.

She tossed the bag she carried into the trunk, giving him a mocking look. He just scowled back at her.

"Get in." He said, and he led the way again, taking the driver's seat when she climbed in herself.

She smirked over at him as he backed out and started driving, heading out of the parking lot onto the street.

"So where now, Bobby?" She asked. "Four down, two to go. Who do you think Chuck's going after next? Well, I just wonder…"

"He's not going to kill me." Bobby frowned, eyeing the street at hand, waiting for an opening to get out onto the street and leave.

Get out of here and get gone before Charles Tucker could track him down.

"You sure?" Rachel asked, teasing. "I bet he thinks he can keep the boss from finding little Trip. He can't, of course…but I bet he _thinks _he can…"

"I bet he _can_." Bobby said. "At least make him hard to find. Me, though? He can make me real easy to find."

"Why, you aren't suggesting Chuck would sell you out like that, are you, Bobby? Well, that'd just be mean."

Bobby found the opening in the traffic he was looking for and he practically floored it, out into the street, heading right down Silverado Ranch Boulevard. East to the Las Vegas Freeway and the hell out of this city.

Off somewhere, anywhere, Charles Tucker couldn't find him.

Rachel watched, amused. Bobby was chewing his lip a little nervously there. Almost like he was anxious about something.

She grinned.

"Don't worry so much, Bobby boy. I'll protect you. Old Chuck isn't going to harm a hair on your head…"

"Right, I should just trust _you_."

"Well, don't hurt my feelings, Bobby." She warned. "We have a deal. I keep my bargains."

"What _other _deals have you got going?"

"Just my deal with the boss. We take Chuck out of the equation and he takes Trip. Then I get a free pass. That's a pretty sweet deal, Bobby, don't you think?"

Bobby sighed.

"And what do _I _get?"

"Why, you get me, Bobby." She said, huskily. "Isn't that what you want?"

He didn't answer, just staring intently down the street as he drove.

Rachel smirked anyway, because she knew. She had his number from _way _back.

She settled in, making herself comfortable.

And reached to put on her seatbelt. Tapped the button on the dashboard in front of her to confirm all the safety features on _her _side of the car were in working order.

So Bobby could see her do that and get curious about it. Because that was funny.

She smiled over at him.

"Just checking." She said. "Because that big, black two-ton cargo truck coming up behind us? That'd be Chuck."

Bobby's eyes widened in alarm and his attention jerked to the rear view screen.

Two-ton cargo truck, big and black, coming in fast…right on his ass…

Bobby floored it.

Because, yeah. That'd be Chuck alright.

Bobby drove a Destin model _Intruder_. 1.25 megawatt hydrogen engine, cruising speed of 200 kph, maxing out at 250 kph. It had a lot of horsepower, too.

It wasn't just a badass car, it was a _fast _badass car. Those two particular points being the whole reason he drove the thing.

So he hit 150 about a second later and there was no way Charles Tucker was going to catch him in that big, clumsy trunk he was driving.

Except he ran into something almost immediately.

Something that stopped the _Intruder _dead in its tracks, spinning it completely around on one side, tires digging into the road and _screaming_. Stopped it cold and hard.

The car nearly folded in half before the safety measures kicked in. Inertial dampeners snatching every scrap of power from the engine for a quick burst to keep him from cracking his head open on the dashboard.

Didn't stop him from jerking a bit and slamming back into the seat a split second later, after that entirely too short little jolt of inertia dampening power kicked in and instantly backed off again.

The _Intruder _was stopped fast, snatched around, right in the middle of the street…and Rachel was sitting _behind _him now, practically in the back seat. Like something had reached inside the car and _shoved _her back, taking the whole passenger seat assembly with her…

She even looked a little dazed herself.

Bobby didn't have to glance up out the front windshield, he knew Charles Tucker was bearing down on him already. He needed a couple of seconds to catch his breath and get his head screwed on straight…but he was reaching for the door with one hand, the plasma pistol with the other…

When he realized the truck was already parked right there in front of him.

And Charles Tucker was standing there right outside the driver's side door with a phase rifle pointed at his head.

So…maybe he'd blacked out for just a second after all. He _had _been going pretty fast. Fast enough that the dampeners maybe didn't quite do their job all that well…

"Out." Charles said, firmly.

Pointing that rifle right at his head.

"Tucker…" Bobby said, warningly.

"You lay hand to that gun and I'll burn your face off."

Bobby hesitated, fingers just barely brushing the plasma pistol behind him…

…but he brought that hand up, along with the other, after just a second contemplating that. Both hands empty, of course.

Charles Tucker _would _burn his face off. Wasn't really a whole lot of confusion on that point.

"Out." Charles said again.

Bobby got out, being real careful to reach out through the now broken window, to open the door from the outside.

So his hands would be in full view and all.

Now would be a pretty good time for Rachel to maybe _do _something, though…

"What the hell is this?" Rachel growled behind him.

He spared a quick, off balance glance her way as he got out of the car, Charles stepping back to keep the rifle on him.

Cars were screeching to a halt out there on the freeway, a few people honking at all the commotion blocking traffic. More than a few of them _not _doing that, having seen guns being pointed at people and not wanting any of that pointed their way.

Rachel was sitting in the car, in the twisted remains of the passenger seat, one hand thrust out in Tucker's direction…accomplishing not a thing and obviously pretty pissed off at that.

Bobby was standing outside the car himself by then, a little unsteady on his feet, with Tucker still pointing that phase rifle at his head…when he figured it out.

He looked down. Almost didn't spot it, since it was painted on the street with some kind of clear acrylic. Something durable, so that it'd survive being driven over by however many cars over however many hours.

Remaining perfectly intact, just sitting there waiting for him to drive right over it at high speed.

A devil's trap. Right there in the damned road.

So he hadn't run into anything at all. _Rachel _had run into that…and then his car got stuck on _her_.

Bobby chuckled. That was pretty damned funny.

Charles smirked when he looked over at him, but he didn't say anything. He reached into his front shirt pocket for something. Some kind of little card shaped thing, handing that over to Bobby.

"Hold this." He said.

And Bobby…well, what else was he going to do? He took it, frowning at Tucker.

"You're not gonna kill me, Charles." He said. "You can't…"

"No, but I can hurt you _real bad_." Tucker growled, eyes instantly going hard.

Right.

So Bobby sighed and just…held onto whatever that thing was.

Tucker fetched a comm out of that same pocket, flicking it open and hitting a button.

"Ready when you are, doc." He said, into the comm.

Rachel didn't hold her peace, though.

"I'm not going to be stuck here long, Chuck." She hissed, furiously. "You better watch your back."

Tucker smirked again, without taking his eyes off Bobby.

"You just let your boss know I've got the last of your little pets." He said. "If she wants him alive…"

"What the hell do we need _him _for?" Rachel sneered. "Your boy's right here in Vegas. Sin City, Chuck…"

"Deal with the one hunter looking to make a deal or take on the two hunters that aren't." Tucker said, talking right past her. "Not a hard choice."

"Guess where I'm going the second I get out of here, Chuck." Rachel seethed.

Tucker ignored her. Message delivered, after all. Didn't pay to talk to demons any more than necessary. Didn't pay to talk to them at all, really.

So he didn't say anything else. He just kept the rifle pointed at Bobby, eyes hard, until the blue light descended and whisked them both away…

* * *

Trip hadn't said anything or even so much as let himself twitch. No way he was going to let T'Pol know she'd surprised him.

He played it cool, just giving her a curious glance when she introduced herself to the woman like that. Claiming to be an author, doing research on her next book.

It was risky. He should have been surprised at the claim itself, as it would otherwise be an odd choice for a cover. He _was _surprised that she'd said it right in front of him, though. She must have known he'd get curious about that. Remember that she'd said she made money writing and how she'd never answered when he asked what _kind _of books she wrote…

Maybe go look it up on the net or something. Review a free excerpt from _Midnight Hunter_, perhaps.

Drop a dozen credits on the first book in the series, even…

He played it cool, just showing a little curiosity and humor on the sly. So maybe she wouldn't catch on that he already knew. Didn't really want that topic coming up in conversation between them just yet.

Not until he finished that first book anyway.

Chelsea Sanchez, aka "Candi", was a stripper. "Candi" with an "I", of course. That was important, apparently.

She was very helpful, once T'Pol dropped a credit link on her account. Even brushing off the big bruiser hovering around, glaring at everyone, once the credits started rolling her way.

Did Rick have any enemies? Anyone that might want to hurt him? Why, no. What a dumb question. Rick was nice guy.

Or, okay, not a nice guy so much. A bit of an ass. Got in a fight or two here and there, but nothing serious.

Like what, for example? Well, nothing really. That guy a couple of weeks ago, just some guy passing through…

And, yeah, there was Sammy, but that wasn't…

Sammy? Yeah, that was him right there, in the picture behind the bar. He was a nice kid and Rick was a little jealous sometimes. Yeah, okay, maybe a bit of a bully. Sammy didn't mean nothing by…

Yeah, he's Vulcan. So what? Sammy, like 'Sami', get it? Comes in here all the time…

No, he's just a kid. His dad used to be a bouncer here, that's him in the picture there. Benny used to be a cop, got drummed off the force for beating some guy too hard, so he worked here for a while…

No, Sammy wasn't adopted. Benny was Human…

Listen, can't really talk about that…

"Why not?" T'Pol pressed.

"Okay, look," Chelsea huffed, tossing her long bleach blonde hair to one side. "My mom used to date the guy. Benny, I mean. Not Sammy. We're practically family though, grew up together and everything. I can't talk about it, you know? It doesn't matter anyway. It doesn't have anything to do with what happened to Ricky."

"I see." T'Pol said, "If you are not comfortable talking about it, perhaps someone else will be."

She was already turning her attention to her PADD. Ready to end the pay-by-the-minute going on there…

"Wait." Chelsea said, quickly. "Look, the kid's mom…she can be pretty mean about it. It's not something we're supposed to talk about. They keep it hush, you know?"

"Keep what 'hush'?"

"About Sammy." Chelsea frowned.

Trip stepped in, frowning himself.

"What _about _Sammy?"

Chelsea fretted a bit, practically fidgeting. But, you know, twenty credits a minute here…

"Well…okay…but, you didn't hear it from me, alright?"

"Hear what?" T'Pol asked.

"No, I'm serious. If it gets back to V'Sher…she's _mean_, you get me? Like, _real _mean."

T'Pol…was suddenly quiet.

Trip found himself a little stunned himself, for that matter.

Chelsea just looked back and forth between then. Grateful for the delay, what with the credits ticking by…but curious herself soon enough.

"What?" She asked, frowning.

"Hold on." Trip said. "She's Vulcan?"

"Yeah, so?" Chelsea frowned. "So what? I said Sammy wasn't adopted."

Chelsea caught on before either of them could answer, though. The light suddenly dawned, albeit dimly, in her eyes.

"Oh." She said, brightly. "You mean you two…? Well, hey, come on, this is _Vegas_."

"That is…unusual." T'Pol ventured.

Chelsea giggled a bit.

"Well, like I said, this is Vegas." She grinned. "You two didn't think you were the only ones, did you? You need to get out more, for serious."

"Okay, wait." Trip said, holding up a hand. "What about the kid? You said he wasn't adopted."

"No, he was _their _kid. They were married."

Even T'Pol's jaw dropped a tick.

Trip…he just stared. And yes, jaw decidedly dropped.

Chelsea thought that was just hilarious. She laughed obnoxiously.

"Wow, you really didn't know? That kind of thing goes on all over the place these days…"

T'Pol collected herself quickly, while Trip's jaw was still hanging.

"No," She said. "There is some misunderstanding. Perhaps it is possible that they were married but they could not…"

"Well, they kept it off the net, of course." Chelsea giggled. "But, yeah, they were married for, like, five years."

"Nevertheless." T'Pol persevered. "They could not have had a child together."

"Yeah, but V'Sher's got some real bank, you know?" Chelsea insisted. "She doesn't really flash it around or anything, but she's loaded."

"What does that have to do with…?"

"They hired some kind of freelance genetics team." Chelsea explained. "They specialize in that kind of thing. Maybe eighteen years ago or something. Had a kid, like, their second try. Nothing to it."

Trip just rubbed the back of his neck, eyes wide. Trying to wrap his head around that one.

T'Pol pressed on. Tentatively, but…

"The child…Sammy…he is Vulcan?" She asked. To clarify.

"Yeah." Chelsea shrugged, still grinning. "Or, you know, _half _Vulcan."

"And half Human." T'Pol said. Again, seeking clarity.

"Uh, yeah." Chelsea said. Because, like, 'duh'.

Trip finally remembered how to speak.

"Wait a minute…how is that possible?" He demanded. "We'd have heard of that. It'd be all over the news."

"No way." Chelsea denied. "V'Sher doesn't exactly _advertise _it, you know. She doesn't want the Explorer channel camped outside her house, looking to do a documentary or something. I mean, can you blame her? There's hybrids all over the place. Nobody cares about that anyway."

"But not Human hybrids." T'Pol argued. "Human and Vulcan, certainly."

"Well, okay, sure." Chelsea shrugged. "Except, I think there's one on Mars. V'Sher mentioned it one time. And there's the Orion and Human couple…in Detroit, I think? It was on the net a while back…_they _had _three _kids…"

"Okay, wow." Trip said. "I can't believe I never heard of this."

"Yeah, me too." Chelsea said, looking at them oddly. "I'd figure you two would know all about that sort of thing."

Trip rubbed his eyes a little, smiling shyly.

"Yeah, we're, uh…we're not really _together_." He said.

Chelsea looked surprised.

"Oh…I just figured…"

"No." T'Pol said. "We are not. However, we are curious about Sammy regardless…"

"How old is he?" Trip asked, interrupting.

"Oh, well…he's about sixteen." Chelsea said. "Like I told you, we practically grew up together. He comes in here all the time…"

"When's the _last _time?"

"Just, maybe…three days ago?"

"I see." T'Pol said, reasserting herself into the conversation again. "Thank you, Ms. Sanchez. I appreciate you taking the time…"

"Hold on." Trip said. "What about his mother? V'Sher? How long ago…"

"We have what we need." T'Pol insisted. "Thank you, Ms. Sanchez."

Trip could only frown at her.

Chelsea was perplexed, though.

"Wait, that's it?" She asked. "What's any of that have to do with Ricky? They didn't have anything to do with that. He just got hit by lightning or something, that's all."

"Yes, that is very unfortunate." T'Pol said, sparing Trip a quick glare. To communicate the interrogation was _over_. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Sanchez."

She was already thumbing the PADD, severing the credit link. Grabbing her brown denim jacket off the bar, just a second and a half from _leaving _here as quickly as decorum would allow.

Trip bit his tongue, giving the confused and somewhat suspicious Chelsea 'Candi' Sanchez a polite smile…before he had to hustle a bit not to get left behind.


	18. Matters in Motion

Trip wasn't completely unfamiliar with T'Pol or anything. He knew her pretty well, five years gone or not. She'd literally been around since before he was born.

So he knew a spooked out T'Pol when he saw one. And he knew that when T'Pol spooked, she bolted. And when she bolted, she bolted way over to the other side of the pasture.

Sometimes for days. Better not come over there and bother her either.

So…you had to play it cool when T'Pol got spooked like that, give her plenty of room to maneuver.

When they exited the building, heading back to the car, she slowed almost the minute they hit the sidewalk. Slowed and stopped, staring across the street at nothing in particular.

Thinking things over. Contemplating things. Deliberating over it all.

You know, freaking out a bit.

So he hung back, real casual like. Not coming around into her field of vision where she'd have to acknowledge him in any way, just hanging back and letting her get her head wherever it needed to be here.

It was pretty obvious what the problem was, of course. Vulcans and Humans could make babies, at least according to 'Candi' the stripper. Maybe that required a lot of 'bank' and a freelance genetics team specializing in…whatever you call that…but, still.

That was big deal to T'Pol, he knew. For reasons many and varied, that was a pretty big deal.

So. Play it cool. Give her wiggle room here.

"Well," Trip said, casually. "That throws a wrinkle in things. A Vulcan/Human hybrid _sirshos'im_. What do you think we can expect from something like that?"

No reaction at all.

She didn't even hear him, still staring off into space.

Okay, so he needed to give her room here, but come on…

"T'Pol?"

_That _did it. She actually jerked a bit, almost startling.

"What?" She asked, looking over at him. With her eyes maybe _just _a hair wider than normal.

Trip smiled. Very casually.

"Did I break your concentration?"

T'Pol frowned, just a little.

"I was considering what Ms. Sanchez said."

So, yeah. Maybe that hurt a bit.

She was obviously standing over there so wrapped up in the idea that she and dad could have had a baby their last go around…or their _next _go around or two maybe…that she was actually daydreaming about it. And, no, Vulcans didn't stand around daydreaming about things all that often.

Sure, yes, that hurt a little.

But he wasn't a little kid anymore. That was just a stupid and pretty pathetic thing to get hung up on. We're all adults here and adults accept the things they can't do anything about.

You suck it up. You deal with it and keep on moving.

Maybe that's why being an adult sucked so much, but what's the alternative? That's right. Running off to the bar over there across the street and getting drunk, feeling sorry for yourself and bemoaning the vagaries of life to anyone too polite to tell you to shut your drunk ass up and stop feeling sorry for yourself.

As appealing as that was…screw _that_. He kinda liked being an adult. Never really had a chance to _be _one until he went out on his own…

"Trip?"

He blinked, returning his attention to T'Pol.

And, wow, did he really just do that?

"Sorry." He said, smiling shyly. "Got a little caught up myself."

"Yes." She said. "It is intriguing."

Right. Jump on that. And hurry…

"Yeah, didn't realize that was possible, right? Me either. So you and dad could have actually had kids. Probably would have cost an arm and a leg…"

Surprisingly, she got a little irritable all of a sudden.

"I was simple considering the ramifications." She said, just a _little _snippy. "It is a rather profound…"

"Alright, don't get testy." Trip frowned right back. "I'm just saying. And, yeah, I admit that _is _pretty profound. You'd think we'd have heard of this."

"It is not relevant here."

"Alright." He shrugged. "Something to think about, though."

And now she looked at him suspiciously.

"What do you mean?" She asked, frostily.

Trip spared a second to speculate on her behavior all of a sudden. She was being pretty emotional, by Vulcan standards.

Which…yeah, maybe he'd forgotten her time was coming around soon, so he should probably keep that in mind a bit more. The closer she got to that, the easier it was going to be to piss her off.

She might start breaking things, if he didn't rein it in a little. He distinctly remembered, to this very day, how she'd literally snatched a door right off its frame in a hotel on Arkali, because dad was taking too long brushing his teeth in there and she had to pee.

She'd even cursed a bit. In Vulcan, sure, which could maybe only _technically _be called cursing, but it had still made for a pretty tense moment in close quarters.

"Well," He said, easily. "You've always said you're not going back to Vulcan. Never really fit in there, got along with Humans better. I always figured you'd settle down around here with one of the locals. With dad, actually."

"I hadn't thought about it." She said, evenly. Staring across the street again.

"Right."

T'Pol jerked her head right back over at him, almost glaring him down.

Yeah, see? That's some flat out paranoia right there. Time to tread very lightly here, Trip.

"Well, you've got time." Trip said, casually. "Save up a bit and rent yourself a genetics team…"

"Let's return our attention to the matter at hand, Trip."

"Alright." He agreed, easily.

"We should remain mindful of the younger _sirshos'im's _hybrid nature." She said. "This makes it all the more unpredictable."

"Okay. So, stake out the mom, you think?"

"I expect Bobby Palmer is doing precisely that, if he has not already dealt with them both himself."

"Sounds like a plan." Trip smiled. "Let's go."

* * *

Bobby Palmer woke up on the floor. It took him a couple of seconds to realize…Tucker had stunned him. Last thing he remembered before that was…

What the hell? They _teleported _or something? They'd been on the freeway, then this weird blue light happened and all of a sudden they were _here_. What the hell kind of witchcraft was _that? _He'd never even _heard _of that.

Tucker'd just shot him the second they popped up here, before he could even be good and surprised about it all.

It took Bobby a second more to shake his head and get his eyes focused again. He'd been stunned before, so it was no big deal.

A little insulting, though.

Bobby frowned around him, taking a good look finally. Hadn't got a chance to before, because Tucker _shot _him.

It was a big white room, lit up by a trio of electric lamps tossed around on the floor here and there. Big and white…like it was carved out of solid rock, maybe? So they were probably underground.

Grabbing his attention right off was the very intimidating black cage he was sitting in. Black metal, cast iron probably. Like a bird cage, but with spikes on the insides of the bars, pointing inward. A devil's trap on the floor of the cage, in dark red…or, no, some weird _variant _of the standard devil's trap that he'd never seen before.

The bars were just wide enough that he might be able to squeeze through…

He got to his feet, once he'd glanced around to be sure. And, no, didn't look like Tucker was anywhere around at the moment. Had to be careful getting up, too. Didn't want to stagger off balance and test out just how sharp those spikes inside the cage were.

He got up and reached one hand out tentatively…

Yeah. Couldn't reach past the bars. So that devil's trap thing on the floor was there to keep _him _in.

He balled his fists up tight and screwed his eyes shut. Concentrating, sending his awareness out beyond himself…still had some demon blood in his veins, from when Rachel thought she'd been sneaky with it…

His awareness didn't budge an inch, not even stepping outside himself at all. So the devil's trap was keeping that hemmed in, too.

Bobby scowled and took another look around.

White, rocky walls. The air fresh and crisp in here, not damp and nasty like it oughta be in a cave. Dry, clean, sparkling white walls…

Son of a bitch. This was a _salt _mine!

There was only one tunnel leading into this room and Bobby could already hear something coming down it. It was dark down there, but a bobbing light suggested someone with a flashlight, once it drew close.

And sure enough, Charles Tucker appeared, flashlight in one hand and a big, grey bag hanging off one shoulder. He met Bobby's eyes when he walked in the room but didn't say anything just yet. He just flicked off the flashlight and tossed it onto the small shelf by the entrance there. Slung the bag off and laid it down on the floor nearby.

Walked right on over to him, easing around the cage, not getting too close.

Bobby just glared for a bit, until it was obvious Tucker wasn't going to say anything. Then he looked away to give the place an appreciative glance.

"A salt mine, huh?" He said.

"Yeah." Tucker said, still making his way around, looking him over.

"Where?" Bobby asked.

Tucker stopped circling and just stood there. He didn't answer.

He just _stared _at him.

Bobby huffed.

"It's not how it looks, Charles." He insisted.

"Right." Tucker glared. "Looked like your girlfriend was a demon to me. Didn't get a chance to check, but I bet she had bite marks here and there. Not the kinky kind, neither."

"You don't understand…"

"Shut the hell up, Bobby." Tucker frowned. "You're the one who doesn't understand what's going on here."

"Okay, just wait a minute." Bobby insisted. "I guess it was the same for the others, right? Something in the blood. When demons possess people, I mean…"

"Yeah, same as the others." Tucker said. "Most of them, anyway. The real stupid ones."

"Tucker, listen…"

"This isn't anything new, Bobby. If you'd done your research you'd know that and you'd know it doesn't ever go well for dumbasses like you."

"She said it was an experiment." Bobby explained. "They just wanted…"

"No damned experiment. They perfected this a long time ago…"

"I'm not an idiot!" Bobby snapped. "Some demon comes along and says I'm special? Chosen for some great, cosmic destiny? Give me a break. I was just stringing her along, until I could figure out all the angles. Keep your friends close and all that."

"Right, you're not an idiot." Tucker snorted. "Getting thirsty yet?"

Bobby hesitated, but…

"Look…" He said, rushing to explain.

"So, you're not hooked, right?" Tucker said. "You can quit any time you like, right?"

Bobby suddenly didn't have anything to say.

"Right." Tucker nodded, sneering.

"You killed Gabrielle." Bobby accused.

"Didn't have to." Tucker said. "I _would _have, but she took care of that herself before I even got to her. Unlike you, she ganked the demon they sent after her the second she figured out what was going on."

"Which was stupid." Bobby insisted. "She could have played along, found out what she could. Found some way out of this, worked from the inside…"

"You really think they're going to let you know anything, Bobby? You can bet every single thing that girl told you was a lie. Nothing she said was close enough to true that you'd have even seen it coming."

Tucker started pacing again, circling around the cage.

"What'd she tell you? That you're special, right? They were going to unlock some great power in you so you could do some big thing for her boss? Make a deal with you, right? That was just to give you rope to hang yourself with, dumbass. Let you think you could play along until you got that power they promised you. Then turn it back on them. That's what you were planning, wasn't it?

"Want to know what _they _were planning? The cage you're sitting in right now. I didn't make that thing, _they _did. This one was just a spare. A prototype for the real thing."

Bobby took another look, eyeing the menacing black cage all around him.

"That's right." Tucker nodded. "Built just for you. You or whichever one of you was dumb enough to get roped into this first. Don't worry, though. It works just fine. You ain't going anywhere…"

"Okay, fine." Bobby snapped back. "Roped into what? What are you talking about?"

"They only need _one _of you, Bobby." Tucker said, fiercely. "Think about it."

Bobby's eyes narrowed.

Because that kinda brought up a particular point, didn't it?

"And now there's only two of us left." Bobby said. "Me and your boy, Trip."

Tucker stopped pacing again.

"Yeah, Bobby. That's right."

"So, what?" Bobby asked. "You're going to just turn me over to them? Make a deal, right? Me for your boy? Let them have me so they leave him alone?"

"You already made your choice." Tucker said.

Bobby shook his head, ruefully.

"God, Charles." He said. "Who's the dumbass here? _You're _the one playing right into their hands…"

"I don't give a good damn." Tucker said.

"Charles, whatever they're doing, they've been planning it for over twenty years! And you're just going to hand me right over to them? Are you out of your damned mind?"

"I don't care." Tucker, annunciating clearly. "They're not getting their hands on my boy."

"Do you even know what they're planning…?!"

"Yeah, I do. And I'll deal with that when the time comes, but not 'till Trip's in the clear."

"How the hell are you going to stop them, Charles?!" Bobby demanded. "You're _helping _them!"

"Don't aim to stop them." Tucker said. "I'll do what I have to when it's all done. When Trip's safe."

Bobby could suddenly only stare. It finally started to sink in.

"My God, you really are crazy. How is Trip going to _safe _after this? Whatever it is…it's _big_, Charles! End of the world big, maybe…"

"It's a whole lot bigger than that."

Bobby found himself overwhelmed now.

Because this was Charles Tucker standing in front of him here. He was practically a legend. And he'd apparently gone right off the deep end or something…

"Get comfortable." Tucker said, already turning to stalk off and leave him here. "The cage ain't gonna budge. Salt mine, iron doors. Sigils and devil traps all down every tunnel. Your girlfriend ain't gonna come riding in to save your ass."

"Charles, you can't do this…!"

"I'll bring you something to eat in a while."

He snatched up the flashlight on the way out and he was gone just that quick. Leaving Bobby in the demon cage, in the middle of a salt mine.

* * *

They sat in the bug, across the street from the house. Watching absolutely nothing happen across the street at all.

According to everything they'd been able to dig up on V'Sher, she was a retired _khartausu_. A director, a manager. Specifically overseeing one of the lesser hostels out on the edge of the Forge on Vulcan, servicing families with children going through their _khas'wan _rite of passage.

And that was a particularly disturbing thought. It was quite obvious where V'Sher had found her victims for the last hundred years or so. Mortality rates for the _khas'wan _in the area had actually dropped measurably after she left for Earth. Trip had made a point of researching the matter and confirming that very disturbing fact.

Nevertheless, she was now 'retired'. Vulcans lived long so it was logical for most to change careers half a dozen times or more before finally settling on one in particular later in life. Elders then turned their attention to providing wisdom, insight and guidance to the next generation. 'Retirement' on Vulcan was rather different than the Earth equivalent, amounting to simply another form of career. Very few businesses, political institutions or any other form of organization at all did not have a small staff of 'retired' Vulcans on the payroll as advisors. To do otherwise would be considered foolish.

Yet, nevertheless, V'Sher had, by all appearances, liquidated her assets and relocated to Earth to pursue nothing of that sort at all. She seemed to have retired in the entirely Human manner.

More to the point, she had no job to go to everyday, so she should to be home at noon. And two hours after noon as well.

Whatever recreational activities she might engage in, that could be expected to occur in the later hours. This was Las Vegas, after all. Little that could be considered exciting occurred during the daytime and a _sirshos'im _would very likely be interested in exciting, titillating entertainments and pastimes. During the daytime hours she could be expected to be found here, plotting her next kill.

But there was no sign of that. The house seemed to be empty at the moment.

They sat and watched, though, doing what research it occurred to them to do until there was nothing else they _could _do but watch the house. The obvious next step was simply to verify the house was empty and break in, to seek what clues and intelligence that could be found within. They delayed a little longer before doing that, though.

Invading a _sirshos'im's _lair was something best approached with a healthy and respectful caution. It was not to be taken lightly.

This gave T'Pol time to consider things she reserved for moments like these. Matters of a personal nature.

She considered Trip. Both he and her relationship with him.

Specifically how that relationship was not at the moment anything at all as she would prefer it to be.

She considered that, until it became logical to address certain points with him.

"Trip." She said. "Do you remember the last time we conducted surveillance like this?"

He looked over, curious. And that was understandable, as nostalgia of that sort might be considered somewhat out of character for her. If there wasn't some underlying point it was meant to illustrate or elude to, that is.

Which she could see he was already trying to look ahead and discern, knowing her quite well enough for that.

"Yeah." He said, smiling. "_Paan Mokar_, right? That werewolf nest. Kinda funny, isn't it? Hunting Human werewolves on a Vulcan world last time…now we're hunting Vulcan vampires on Earth."

"Essentially what I was thinking." T'Pol said. "I find I appreciate the irony."

Trip snorted his humor at that…and turned back to watch the house.

T'Pol worked up her nerve. Being Vulcan, that only took a moment.

"That was several years ago." She said.

"Yeah." Trip said, quietly, not turning back to look again. Merely watching the house instead.

"Trip, I realize you do not miss hunting." She said. "I realize there are many aspects of your life prior to now that you do not appreciate. I have to ask, however…do you miss _me?"_

Trip considered that, looking out the window at the house across the street.

"It's been a few years." He said, quietly.

Perhaps…a little tightly.

"I understand I'm asking a difficult question for you to answer objectively. But nevertheless…you did not answer."

Trip sighed.

"Okay, I get what you're asking. And yeah, I guess. Sometimes."

"I haven't thought about it myself in a long time."

Trip snorted.

"Benefit of being a Vulcan."

"Yes, it is." She admitted. "But I realize…when this is over, whether we resolve these matters or not, you will return to the Starfleet Training Center in two more days. The day after tomorrow, at the latest. We may never see each other again."

Trip looked back at her finally, surprised at that.

Ready to argue, interestingly enough.

"What do you mean?" He challenged.

"You will eventually be given a command." She pointed out. "Even prior to that, it can be expected that your studies at STC will require all of your attention from now until then. I, meanwhile, will continue to hunt. While I cannot say I will remain exclusively on Earth, there is no way of knowing if we will ever encounter one another again…"

"There's every way of knowing." Trip argued. "I can guarantee you we're not going to lose touch. Stop thinking like that."

T'Pol steeled herself.

"That is what I hope." She said. "However long it may be until then, I would miss you, Trip."

Trip frowned, and he was clearly troubled.

And he hesitated as well, steeling _himself _before responding.

"T'Pol…I've got a few years before getting a command of my own even becomes a possibility." He said. "I'll get a _posting _by then, at least, and I've still got my cadet cruise ahead of me in two years, but…once this is over I've got to get back for semester finals. And you've got…well, you've got your own problem to deal with in Austin. After that, though, I guess I just assumed you'd drop by to see me."

T'Pol allowed some hope to well up at that. Only a little and tightly controlled, but some small amount.

"I was uncertain whether that was a logical assumption to allow myself." She said. "I assumed instead that you would not be comfortable with that."

"Well, our relationship's pretty screwed up right now." He said, smiling just a little. "But the only way we're going to fix that is to _have _a relationship. Have the one we were _supposed _to have."

T'Pol nodded at that. And hope did spring then, as that was precisely what she'd hoped for.

"Trip, that remains in question." She said. "What relationship? As you said yourself, that is difficult to determine. I was only arguably a sister of any sort, unofficially adopted or otherwise. Our relationship is difficult to classify and so necessarily difficult to pursue."

Trip considered that, rolling his tongue in his cheek apprehensively.

"Family, at least?" He asked, tentatively.

T'Pol looked pensive.

"I have not done well with that form of relationship." She said, quietly. "I had hoped, rather…that perhaps we could be friends. That seems more to be the form of relationship that we should have shared from the beginning."

Trip grinned then, almost smirking. Finding humor, as always, in the very strangest things.

"From the beginning I was a baby." He chuckled. "Pretty sure you changed a few diapers, T'Pol."

She twitched an appreciative eyebrow at that, and shrugged lightly.

"I will grant you that and I do recall an instance or two involving diapers." She said. "But nevertheless, that is what I would prefer. It remains what _you _would prefer…"

"I'd be just fine with that." He said, smiling. "I guess I even agree. Nothing else seems to really fit anymore and…yeah, we did manage to screw up everything else so far."

T'Pol took a deep breath, more relieved than she would be comfortable admitting.

"That is more than I could have hoped for." She said.

"Well, I'll tell you what," Trip grinned. "After you're done in Austin, you give me a call. We'll set a date and I'll make sure I'm free, whatever I have to do. I happen to know a great little diner that has a pretty impressive vegetarian selection."

"Carmello's?" T'Pol remembered.

"That's the one." Trip grinned. "I guarantee you'll be impressed."

"Then I agree." She said, comfortably. "We will meet there and begin the process of redressing the dysfunctional…"

"Or we could just get together and have hoagies like a couple of good friends." Trip interrupted.

T'Pol considered that…for only a short moment.

"Or that." She nodded. "That's sounds agreeable as well."

The house lay just at the corner of her eye, as she looked back at Trip now...and it suddenly seemed all the more to be something standing between this moment and that one. The one involving hoagies at Carmello's, with Trip, her 'good friend'.

It seemed all the more intolerable a thing that should be dealt with and be done with, in fact.

"In the meantime," She said, turning her attention back to the house. "I think it is safe to assume Bobby Palmer is not here. We should explore the house and see whether his trail can be found again, to move on from here."

Trip turned his attention there as well, rolling his tongue in his cheek again.

"Might be a _sirshos'im _waiting in there..."

"All the better." T'Pol said.


	19. Love Me Two Times

The house was empty enough, at least no one was home at the moment. The security system proved a little extravagant for a small, three bedroom suburban, interestingly enough.

Nothing Trip couldn't handle, once he had a chance to scan the place a bit and get to work. Doing so without appearing suspicious to any nosy neighbors who might be watching required taking a little longer than they were comfortable with, but they managed to get inside without drawing attention to themselves or summoning the local police department.

Inside it was surprisingly…bare. The entryway and the living room had all the prerequisites. Family photos on the wall, assorted knick knacks here and there, everything you'd expect to find in your standard living room. The kitchen, bathroom and bedrooms didn't have a lot in the way of anything personal or even colorful, however.

It was pretty obvious the living room was actually _staged_. Set up in case visitors dropped by, so they could be shortly greeted and politely shoved back out the door again without wondering how these folks lived here without any actual signs of _living _here. Without an empty box of sugar puff candy on the coffee table, some spare change on the small shelf by the front door or a brochure for an intriguing two week tour of the Caymen islands, for instance.

In the kitchen…nothing. The refrigerator held two packs of bologna, nothing more. Three loaves of bread up in the cupboard right next door. One plate, one fork, one spoon. A single glass sitting upside down on a hand cloth next to the sink. That was it.

Frugal, to say the least, and that was probably solely for little Sammy's benefit. As T'Pol knew well enough, the elder V'Sher would require no such sustenance herself. It was doubtful that Sammy did any longer, in fact, if he'd made his first kill as they assumed.

The bedrooms themselves, little more than the beds and only Sammy's showing any sign it had suffered anything more than occasional dusting in many years. A few sets of clothes in the closets; underwear, socks, a pair of gloves in Sammy's case. Again, that was all. Not a lot more than that.

Except in Sammy's bedroom, there was just a _little _actual decoration thrown up on the wall right above the dresser.

Pictures tacked up there, about a dozen of them. All featuring, to Trip's complete lack of surprise, one Chelsea 'Candi' Sanchez. More than a few of them featuring work related promotional photos, with g-strings and pasties in evidence. Less than that in a couple of cases. Two group photos, with both 'Candi' and Sammy standing together among various others, smiling for the camera.

One animated image, a short video of 'Candi' hard at work up on stage. It would have been surprising that mom let _that _stay up there…if mom wasn't a soul-sucking monster, anyway.

"I suspect V'Sher encouraged this fixation." T'Pol opined, looking over the display. "Undoubtedly, she intended for Ms. Sanchez to be her offspring's first kill."

"Trying to work around him growing up like a normal kid, you think?" Trip asked. "Maybe he wasn't comfortable with all of this?"

"I cannot say." T'Pol shrugged. "From the nature of the home they shared here, it is possible he was not entirely comfortable with being _Human_. Or Vulcan…a hybrid, whatever the case may be. Regardless, I would assume the first kill would be rather a significant milestone for him. Capitalizing on an adolescent fixation with Ms. Sanchez would likely have been the logical approach then. A comfortable means of introducing him to predation."

"Well, I can't believe we missed this." Trip frowned. "Thinking back, it's pretty obvious in hindsight. We really let ourselves get distracted, T'Pol. I think it's obvious what happened now. He crushes on Candi the stripper, bumps into the boyfriend out in the desert, maybe even followed him out there, the same guy that gave him a beating at the bar or _whatever _happened between those two…"

"Suffered an emotional outburst on interacting with him and impulsively killed him, removing the obvious rival for the girl's affections." T'Pol finished.

"Probably his first kill, not even planned out at all, seeing how badly he handled it."

"So where is Sammy now, Trip?"

He opened his mouth to consider that out loud…before realizing she'd asked like he'd somehow know.

"You're asking me?" He asked, a little surprised.

"He is an adolescent, at least partially Human." T'Pol explained. "Suffering a 'crush' on an attractive female several years his elder. Now he has killed without premeditation and is likely making emotional decisions…"

"Alright, alright. I get it." Trip smirked. "And, yeah, Sammy's there."

He gestured at the pictures on the wall.

T'Pol considered the pictures, trying to determine which of the venues on display he'd meant to indicate.

"Where?" She asked, uncertainly.

"There." Trip said. "Wherever _she _is."

T'Pol found that doubtful. Emotional decision making or not, that would not be logical at all. It would be the last place he should…

"Are you certain?"

"Oh, yeah. He's killed for her now, right? It's all about her now. Wherever she is, that's where he is. You can bet he even saw us come and go back at the strip club."

"And his mother?"

"Well, that'd be more your department."

T'Pol thought that over.

Thinking back to Trip's younger years, imagining herself a soul sucking monster of some sort and Trip only now following in her footsteps. Having made his first kill, independently, without her direction and supervision…and having performed so poorly as a result…

"V'Sher is aware of what has occurred." T'Pol decided. "She's looking for him. Seeking to find him before he draws attention to them, expecting he will kill again soon and perhaps as poorly as he has so far. She is concerned he will reveal them or leave evidence leading back to them, and she seeks to capitalize quickly on his uncertainty and anxiety, to guide him along the path she has determined for him while he is still vulnerable."

They considered the pictures for the shortest of moments…

Before it was suddenly a little awkward.

T'Pol spoke first what they both were thinking.

"It is somewhat disturbing how easily we were able intuit their…"

"Let's just pretend this never happened." Trip interjected, chuckling.

T'Pol nodded. "That would be agreeable."

Trip had been carrying the both the case and the ice spear as they searched the house, having readied it once they entered. In retrospect it occurred to her that perhaps that hadn't been wise. Obviously she should have carried the spear, being both stronger physically and more skilled martially. It simply hadn't occurred to her until now.

But that brought her attention to the spear when he raised the case to lay it atop the dresser near at hand, to stow the spear away in there again. It was a Vulcan short spear, not much longer than a meter in length and so it hadn't drawn her attention especially until now.

"Will it be necessary to reapply and reshape the ice layer on the spearhead?" She asked.

But she noticed even before he answered. Trip had apparently _altered _the spear in some manner.

"Nah, it'll stay good as long as the battery lasts." He said.

She could see then that there was a small, thin object attached the shaft. The battery, presumably, with two wires running from there to the spearhead, taped tightly against the shaft in between and running to strips applied directly to the either side of the blade…

"Trip, what have you done to the spear?" T'Pol asked, curiously.

"Oh." He said, realizing she hadn't already been aware. "I just picked up a couple of industrial grade refrigerant strips and jury-rigged a power supply. Slapped 'em right on the blade. You just pour some water over it and you're good to go. All you really have to do is get some ice in the thing's heart, right?"

"I would assume so." She said, eyeing the spear closely now.

He pulled it back out of the case, holding it up for review, and indeed, there was a thin layer of hard ice all along both sides of the spearhead, despite his having carried the weapon in the open for some time now.

"You can practically stick it in the oven and the ice won't even melt." He said, proudly.

T'Pol found that doubtful and conveyed as much with nothing more than a slight frown and elevated eyebrow…

"Well, okay," He amended, smiling openly. "Maybe that's exaggerating a little…"

"Trip, I think your father was right." T'Pol said. "You should have been an engineer."

"Oh, I'd _love _that." He chuckled. "You should see that things they're doing with the warp four engine these days."

"Then why have you not pursued…?"

"Hey, you know how many Starfleet engineers get promoted past Commander?"

T'Pol thought that over for a moment.

"I would assume…very few?" She guessed.

"Less than that." Trip smirked, good naturedly. "I figured if I was going to do this 'normal life' thing, then I might as well do it right. I don't plan on retiring until I make Captain, at least."

"I see." She nodded.

That made sense, she supposed. Not to mention his original dream remained, commanding a starship of his own. Such a command was much more likely with an actual Captain's rank, rather than just the honorary title that came such a command.

"So the _sirshos'im _are not here and neither is Bobby Palmer." T'Pol said. "It seems the trail leads back to the bar. To Chelsea Sanchez specifically."

Trip snapped the case shut, already having stowed the spear away.

"Ready when you are." He said.

She led the way, out of Sammy's bedroom and back into the hall. From there, to the front door of the house. But she noticed right away that Trip had suddenly fallen behind, lingering in the hallway, so she looked back at him.

He was examining the wall at hand, as if he'd realized something strange about it.

"Trip?" She asked. "What is it?"

"Well, now that you got me thinking like an engineer, I just noticed something." He said. "The way the kitchen's laid out and the living room over there…we're missing about nine square meters."

T'Pol looked to the wall where he was looking. And, yes, now that he mentioned it, there did seem to be far too much unclaimed space between the kitchen and living room.

Trip pointed at the wall, confidently.

"Right here." He said.

He reached out, feeling along the wall in front of him, his free hand searching…

Finding the slightly loose section of panel almost right away and tapping it appreciatively.

"A secret room." He said, grinning. "Well, I just can't help myself."

He nudged the panel in a little, pulling his hand back away immediately to let it pop out on its own. Reaching and swinging it aside to reveal the door concealed directly behind it.

He was through and out of sight before she could even object, forcing her to move quickly to bring him back into view again.

There could be _anything _in there, after all.

And to her surprise…there was.

They stood together in the small room, looking around almost amazed. There were hooks set into the wall practically everywhere. Dozens of short shelves as well here and there. All laid out meticulously and aligned perfectly, displaying more individual items than could easily be counted.

Various pieces of jewelry were on display in one section, wrist watches in another. Three pairs of old-fashioned eyeglasses lined up together on one shelf. Two sets of cufflinks, one of them featuring diamonds. At least two dozen rings, all hanging from small hooks in their own section.

Wallets of all sorts lined together on one shelf. Small photographs, of the sort normally found in wallets and pocketbooks. Several PADDs of varying models and varieties, some modern and some obviously years out of date.

In some cases…locks of hair fastened between small clear plastic plates and hanging from short chains. A gold-capped tooth sitting on a small stand on one shelf. A severed finger, still bearing an engraved and bejeweled gold ring.

And near those things, five even more disturbing displays. Entire lengths of Human skin, cured and framed, hanging on the wall in their own specific area. Each displaying tattoos, old and faded now but no less eye-catching, despite their nature…

"God, T'Pol." Trip breathed, looking around in both amazement and no little horror. "You know what this is, don't you?"

"Yes." She said, disgusted. "It is a trophy room."

And indeed, there were at least a thousand individual items on display in the small room. Hanging from hooks, sitting on shelves, framed, set on small stands…all manner of objects, each individual and unique enough to serve the purpose intended. To remind V'Sher of the specific victim she'd claimed them from.

"A _sirshos'im _trophy room." T'Pol said again. "This is the nature of these creatures, Trip. Not only to hunt and kill, to feed themselves and prolong their existence. They retain the _katra _they steal from their victims. Here V'Sher comes to commune with them, calling them forward with these items, which she identifies with them. Taking sadistic pleasure in their torment and in her possession of them. _This _is what the _sirshos'im _lives for. What it hunts and kills for."

Trip was scowling around the room already, but he lingered a little longer to take in the full horror of the place and all that it represented.

Long enough for the one certain item on the shelf to his right to catch his attention.

He reached out and took it, the only item in the room it had even occurred to him to physically touch. And he examined that item gravely for a time, before offering it to her so that she could satisfy her own curiosity.

It was a badge. An official identification badge for one Sergeant Benjamin Boggs, a detective for the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department.

"Trip…this is…"

"Sammy's dad." Trip said, grimly. "V'Sher's husband."

"She killed him." T'Pol said, almost unable to accept that fact, despite how readily apparent it might be.

"Jeez, they were together…how long?" Trip asked.

"Five years, according to Ms. Sanchez."

"Five years." Trip said, shaking his head. "Long enough to have a kid and…"

He suddenly realized something, his eyes widening a little at the thought.

"And long enough to learn everything she needed to know about how the local PD handled things." He said, gritting his teeth.

"Such as missing persons and suspicious deaths." T'Pol said, putting the pieces together herself.

"Right." Trip grimaced. "Son of a bitch. He was just _research_."

"And a father for her offspring. One lending the child a simple measure of legitimacy."

"So why a Human?" Trip asked. "That's what I don't get. Why go through all the trouble of having a Human/Vulcan hybrid? Why not just hook up with a Vulcan?"

"There are likely no Vulcans employed with the local police department, Trip." T'Pol said. "Not to mention, she would have had much more difficulty concealing her nature from a Vulcan from five years. This was a well calculated and strategic series of actions. It was quite logical."

"Logical?"

"Indeed." T'Pol said. "We can expect that she now enjoys connections with local law enforcement and all associated organizations, perhaps even connections within the Las Vegas city government as well."

"Why the kid, though? That's what I'm having trouble wrapping my head around. She went through a lot of trouble to have this kid. Don't these things hunt in packs, like vampires do?"

"Indeed, they do." T'Pol said, handing the badge back to Trip. "Smaller packs, though. Immediate family members only."

"So, what? She came here to set up her own pack?"

"That is the logical deduction. And with Sammy, she has already begun to do so. A Human/Vulcan hybrid who can be assumed to fit in quite well on Earth. Perhaps even paving the way and preparing for years to come, when both species can be expected to more fully integrate on this planet."

Trip considered that for a moment, scowling all the more.

"You're right." He said then. "Damn, T'Pol. In another hundred years, when you can probably expect to find a hundred thousand…heck, maybe a _million _Vulcans living on Earth…she'd already be set up here with a whole pack. Already set up and been at it that whole time."

"In Las Vegas. The perfect hunting ground for a _sirshos'im _pack."

Trip reached and replaced the badge on the shelf where he'd found it. Absently wiping his hand on his shirt to remove the taint that he imagined he'd picked up from it.

"Alright, I've seen enough." He said, decisively. "If you're ready, let's go find this bitch and get those people out of her. Put an end to all this."

T'Pol didn't correct him, didn't remind him their original goal was to find Bobby Palmer. To find his father, in point of fact.

As it happened, she agreed. If they could accomplish both, killing this evil creature and finding Charles Tucker, then that is exactly what they would do. Perhaps even if one suffered somewhat for the sake of the other.

They left the room, sealing the door behind them again, more resolved now than even before.

They left the room, left the hallway and left the house, stepping out to the front yard to return to the bug and seek whoever they could find back at the strip club. The _sirshos'im_, Bobby Palmer…perhaps even Charles.

To their surprise they found someone they hadn't been looking for at all. Someone waiting at the bug for them to return. A rather attractive woman with long, raven hair and soulful eyes whom they both recognized and knew quite well.

A fellow hunter they worked with in the past, if not for many long years.

Rachel Simmons.

* * *

Charles tossed the last of the ingredients into the bowl, leaving the one remaining and most crucial element to one side. A short length of brown linen, with a name written there in blood. In English Standard, since it didn't really matter what language it was written in or what set of characters were used to represent it.

He took that in hand and if he hesitated here at all, it was at that moment. Once he tossed that last little piece in there and lit it on fire…there'd be no going back. This was, in every real way, the line he hadn't quite dared to cross yet.

If it could be said that he hesitated, it wasn't by much and not for long at all.

He tossed the linen strip into the bowl and clicked the button on the lighter, reaching to ignite the contents right away. It flared hot and only for a brief moment before fading and fizzling out again, but it was long and hot enough a blaze to burn everything in the bowl.

And she was there, instantly. As if she'd been waiting for the formalities to be attended to before stepping into being of her own accord.

She didn't even bother to glance up at the devil's trap on the ceiling, acknowledging it was there, nor at the second variant on the floor around her, entirely to reinforce the matter.

She just stood, thumbs hooked in the pockets of her blue jeans, slumped casually where she stood looking at him. _Smirking _at him. Seeming for all the world to have been standing there the whole while, unseen, waiting for him to reveal her presence rather than having summoned her there against her will.

Then she turned her head slightly, keeping her eyes and her smirk on him, as if thinking a particular thought…

"Wait, now don't tell me." She suggested. "We've met before, haven't we?"

Charles didn't allow himself to react to that. He just waited and watched.

She was a demon. She'd have her little playtime and then they'd get down to business. This was all just to get under his skin, just her scrambling for some kind of leverage or means of manipulation before the negotiations began.

She raised one hand casually from her pocket to snap her fingers.

"_Riiight_." She said. "Now I remember. Florida? August, '21? That was quite a party. We really burned the house down, didn't we, Chuck? So how's the wife?"

She winced, immediately. Mockingly.

"Oh…yeah, my bad. Forgot about that. Got her throat snatched out a bit, didn't she? That was kind of messy…"

"Just let me know when you're ready to deal, Jahi."

"Deal?" She said, eyes flashing with interest now. "But you're missing the point, Chuck."

"The point is the deal."

"The point is _fun_." She said. "_That's _the point, Chuck."

Tucker picked up the blade from the table, the one he'd used to carve the few bits and pieces that needed carving up before being tossed into the bowl.

She noticed it, of course. As he'd intended.

"Cool blade." She said, a little huskily.

He tucked it away, back in its sheath, sliding that into his belt at his side.

"You can have a closer look anytime you like." He said, evenly.

Jahi considered that, tilting her head to one side to do so.

"How many so far, Chuck?" She asked, curiously. "A dozen at least, I think. A dozen by _your _hand, anyway. It's only going to work so many times, you know. Then the magic…"

She shrugged broadly, pursing her lips mockingly.

"Well…poof." She pouted. "It no work no more."

"It'll work one more time, I reckon." Tucker replied. "I'll be back in an hour. If you're ready to deal, we'll deal. If not, then we'll see if this old knife's done killed forty demons yet or not."

"Forty." Jahi pounced. "Interesting number. The number of trials and tests. Forty days and forty nights…"

Tucker just ignored her, already moving to leave the chamber. Leaving her there, caught between complimentary devil's traps, deep in an old salt mine.

"You ever think about that, Chuck?" She said, turning to follow him as he walked away. "It rained for forty days and nights. The people wandered in the desert for forty years. The Big Man Himself for forty days before Lucifer tempted Him. How are _you _being tested, Chuckie boy?"

"I reckon to see whether or not I can finish what this old blade was set out to do." Tucker said, still walking away. "Doing pretty good so far."

"Maybe it's at thirty now." Jahi said. "The number of mourning. Aaron's death was mourned for thirty days. Moses, too. Who's going to mourn _you _when you die, Chuck?"

Tucker paused to look back at least, and she smirked to see that.

"Don't plan on dying no time soon, Jahi."

"Well, none of you ever do, Chuckie."

He turned back around, ready to leave again.

"Maybe only six left to go." She said. "The number of man."

Tucker paused again. Not turning around this time, but not leaving just yet either.

"Funny thing, Chuck. Six is one of those numbers that's kind of across the board. Vulcans, Andorians, Humans…just about every species out there you haven't even met yet…six is a very special number to every one of them. The number of….well, _them_, if you get right down to it."

"The number of blood monkeys you put out there." Tucker said, turning back to glare at her.

"Yeah." Jahi grinned. "I'm partial to six. The number of man. I just _love _you guys. And speaking of _monkeys_…"

"Ain't six no more, though." He said, turning around again now. "Think we're down to two, ain't we?"

"The number of the witness." She said, triumphantly. "Not quite as good a witness as three, but it's _just _good enough. And, Chuck, my goodness, which one's going to stand witness, do you think? Only _one _can do that. The other…well, there's got to be something to _witness_, you know…"

"So, you ready to deal then?" Tucker pressed.

Jahi just smiled.

Closing her lips to hum at him as she smiled. Even turning away to hum melodically to herself, looking around the blank, white walls of the chamber, ignoring him completely.

Until he finally sneered in disgust.

Then she began to sing quietly to herself, just barely where he could hear.

"_Love me two time, bay-beh." _She sang, innocently. _"Love me twice to-day…"_

Tucker turned away, to leave the chamber.

"_Love me two time, girl. I'm goin' away…"_

Leaving the chamber, down the salt tunnel, away from the demon mocking him.

"_Love me two time, girl. One for tomorrow, one just for today…"_

The sound, the song and her voice echoing down the tunnel after him. As if she didn't barely whisper it into the air.

"_Love me two time…I'm goin' away…"_


	20. On the Hunt

T'Pol drove, leaving Trip in the passenger seat questioning Rachel where she sat in the back. Dividing her attention between both those things, as the bug's autopilot tended to be a bit cautious moving through urban areas.

And thus taking entirely too long to get a mere ten kilometers across town. It was beginning to look like things might be coming to a head here, so dealing with the _sirshos'im _had become something that needed to be resolved quickly.

"So this _sirshos'im _is old." Trip was saying. "Really old, maybe even one of the originals. Cursed and set to guard some old temple that doesn't even exist anymore..."

"Right." Rachel said, impatiently. "Old enough that she's probably got a million souls in her already. She'll go off like a hydrogen bomb when she dies, so taking her out in the middle of Las Vegas probably wouldn't be all that smart. But that doesn't _matter_, Trip."

"It matters." He insisted. "We've got to take her down before we do anything else..."

"No. There are more important things that need to be dealt with here."

"This isn't something that can wait a day or two, Rachel?" Trip argued. "It's been in the works for, what, twenty years now?"

"Well, who cares about some damned _sirshos'im_?" She snapped. "We've got to find Bobby and get you somewhere safe."

"Rachel." T'Pol said, from the driver's seat. "You have yet to explain what exactly is going on. Why was Trip chosen and what was he chosen for?"

"Not just Trip." Rachel insisted. "Bobby, too. And Gabrielle and a few other people."

"And they are all dead." T'Pol pointed out. "You claim Charles killed them himself. Explain why."

"Bobby's not dead." Rachel insisted. "He's out there somewhere. Chuck's got him."

"Alright, so why would he do that?" Trip interrupted. "You said he was hunting them all down. Why take Bobby alive? None of this makes any sense, Rachel."

Rachel huffed, frustrated.

"Okay, fine." She scowled. "Why don't you tell me what _you _know. This is going to get complicated in a hurry otherwise."

"Only that several people were chosen, presumably at birth." T'Pol said. "Visited by demons at six months, with their parents murdered as a consequence. Now Charles is hunting them, eliminating them, with only Trip and Bobby left now. This is all that we know."

Rachel looked back and forth between them for a moment.

"That's it?" She said, amazed. "That's all you know?"

"Hey, we just found about all this last night." Trip argued. "Why don't you fill in the blanks a little?"

Rachel snorted again.

"Wow." She chuckled. "I guess I just expected a bit more from the great and terrible Tuckers. So, look...the parents, the mothers specifically, weren't just killed as a 'consequence'. It was part of the plan. Kill the mom and that screws the kid up a little. Makes it easier for a demon to come along and get close later on in life, when they're adults. That little chink in the armor they need to get in, you know?"

"For possession?" Trip asked. "So they were all possessed?"

"Not exactly. Whatever you were all being prepared for, it requires free will. But you can undermine free will all you want. Enough to nudge things in the right direction anyway. They can still make the decision on their own, but that leaves a whole lot of room to make sure they make the decision you _want _them to."

"How? And for what?"

Rachel hesitated, squinting at them both. Considering...

"Demon blood." She said, finally. "That's the key. It unlocks the power you were given, but it's _addictive_, see? Once you start using it, _drinking _it, it's kind of hard to stop. Not impossible or anything but if you're already close enough to a demon to be _doing _that it, then it makes a great excuse to just go along with things. You're easier to manipulate."

Trip was squinting back at her then, obviously considering everything she _wasn't _saying here.

"And Bobby?" He asked. "Was he using it?"

Rachel frowned.

"He...yeah, he was." She admitted. "But he was just stringing her along. He wasn't _stupid, _Trip. We were just trying to find out everything we could before we turned the tables on them."

"Rachel." T'Pol said, looking back at her in the rear view screen. "That would have been remarkably unwise."

"These demons aren't as smart as everyone thinks." Rachel insisted. "Not the grunts, anyway. The low level nobodies that don't even have any power. That's who they sent after Bobby. She was an idiot. So Bobby...you know, used the blood...but..."

Rachel shook her head, to express just how impressed she was.

"You should have seen what he could do then." She breathed. "It was incredible. And she was _scared _of him when she saw that."

"So what's it all about?" Trip demanded. "What do they need us for? What are they planning?"

"I'm...not a hundred percent sure yet." Rachel admitted.

Trip scowled.

"It's big, though." Rachel rushed to explain. "Real big, and they're desperate to make it happen. Enough that we had that demon eating right out of our hand. Forget manipulating _Bobby_. Once he tapped into his power, she was practically throwing herself at our feet to make _us _happy."

"Or pretending to." Trip insisted. "For God's sake, Rachel, you know better than that. You can't trust anything a demon says. Or _does_, for that matter. It's all a game to them. They couldn't tell the truth if they _wanted _to."

"I'm telling you what I saw myself." Rachel insisted. "I was _there_, Trip."

"And you are not objective." T'Pol said. "You were too close to the situation. I assume from your statements so far that you and Bobby Palmer have become romantically involved since last we spoke."

Rachel looked uncomfortable for a moment...then squared her shoulders suddenly.

"Okay, yeah." She said. "We are. So what? I'm not stupid, either. We knew what we were doing."

"Right." Trip snorted. "So Bobby gets himself hooked on demon blood and unlocks some 'power'. Then what? What did you get out of all that? I'm not hearing a lot of answers here, Rachel."

"We got his power." She insisted. "You really need to see it to understand, Trip. I'm telling you, that demon was practically fawning over him after that. Scared to death he'd turn on her. Turn on all of them."

"Yeah. And?" Trip pressed. "So what did you learn?"

Rachel shifted uncomfortably again.

"We...didn't really get a chance to dig very deep by then..."

"Right." Trip said, firmly. "Because you got played."

"No." Rachel insisted. "She was just about to tell us everything. Try to make a deal to stay on Bobby's _good _side. Even turning on her boss, whoever that is. Maybe even put _Bobby _in charge of things. Then Chuck came along and screwed everything up before we could..."

"All of this is largely irrelevant." T'Pol said, looking back again. "We will not deal with demons, Rachel. That is simply not an option. If Charles has Bobby...or even if he has already killed him...then he will undoubtedly contact us now. We need only wait for him to do so."

"_Or_..." Rachel said, pointedly. "You can wait until they send a demon after Trip. Then you can see for yourself what I'm talking about. I'm telling you, this is a golden opportunity. They screwed up somewhere in all this. Underestimated us, maybe. We can't let this chance just pass us by."

"We will not." T'Pol assured. "If they do send a demon after Trip, then we will be ready. And we will indeed get answers at that time."

"Well...fine then." She said, grudgingly. "If you're not going to listen to me, then we'll just do it your way. But Chuck didn't kill Bobby. He's alive somewhere."

"We'll find out where." Trip assured. "Dad's bound to show up now, so we'll find out what's going on from him. Right now we've got a couple of _sirshos'im _to deal with."

Rachel huffed.

"We're wasting time with this _sirshos'im _crap." She insisted. "And what if your dad _doesn't _show up? What then?"

"Then we wait for the demon." Trip said. "We'll do what we have to do, Rachel. We can get some answers..."

The laptop chimed, from the dashboard where T'Pol had left it hours ago. Trip broke off to reach and flip it open, pausing at what he saw there.

"You've got this thing monitoring the local police band?" He asked, surprised.

"Of course." T'Pol said. "It is set to respond to anything related to our investigations so far. What has it detected?"

Trip read quickly.

"Got a hit on...that strip club, looks like." He said, before pulling the laptop to him and tapping at the buttons for a moment.

The report, already recorded and ready for playback, cut into the air in the bug from the laptop's speakers.

_"Seven-one-five, Seven-six-one, police are responding to 119 East Sahara, 'Bottom's Up Gentleman's Club'. Seven-one-five, Seven-six-one, stage on site. Police are responding to possible multiple homicide. Code thirteen, check five."_

_"Seven-one-five, Dispatch. We're holding on site, got a comm inside. One subject attempting to relocate."_

_"Seven-six-one, arriving on site, Dispatch."_

_"Baker four-five, responding. En route."_

_"Dispatch, Seven-one-five, hold the comm. Do we have a description of the assailant?"_

_"Seven-one-five, Vulcan male, unknown weapon. Subject reports at least three down. Scramble EMS?"_

_"Dispatch, Seven-one-five. EMS en route. Any further information?"_

_"Seven-one-five, negative."_

_"Seven-six-one, Dispatch. We're assembling. Entrance is barricaded."_

_"Seven-one-five, Baker four-five. Request SWAT?"_

_"Baker four-five, Dispatch. Bang out the heat."_

_"Dispatch, Baker four-five. Confirm SWAT. Hold the stage."_

_"Baker four-five, all responding. Code comm, switch channel oh-oh-two."_

They waited a short moment, but there was nothing more forthcoming.

"I don't guess you've got this thing set up to hack police secure comm channels?" Trip asked, hopefully.

T'Pol spared him a regretful look, but that was all.

She did start driving a little faster, though.

* * *

It was already over by the time they arrived, evening traffic in Las Vegas not being conducive to ground vehicles moving from one point to the other in any kind of rapid manner. It had taken nearly half a hour to get across the last six kilometers.

Rachel practically hit the ground on the move, walking right through the cordoned off crime scene markers to present herself to the guy in charge. Before he could even decide how harshly to bark at her. And before T'Pol or Trip could manage more than exiting the bug and taking a quick look around to see her do that.

She tossed up a badge out of nowhere.

"Sarah Jennings, Starfleet Intel." She said, briskly, glancing at his badge in turn. "What have you got here, Sergeant?"

The officer blinked a bit, needing a split second to catch with things all of a sudden. Then he did, none to happy with it.

"Starfleet?" He snapped. "You're a little out of your jurisdiction, ma'am. If you don't mind, how about you get back behind that cordon? We're a little busy here."

"Right." Rachel snorted. "A Vulcan walking into a strip club and murdering about a dozen people. Strange burn marks, indeterminate cause of death, EMS getting weak life signs but no brain activity from some of them, before they finally caught up with the fact that they were dead. Am I missing anything?"

The sergeant eyed her narrowly.

"Yeah, that's right." He growled. "And I never even heard of that before. Shouldn't be possible. If you know what the hell's going on here, then you'd better start talking..."

"Or, a better idea._ You _can start talking, before I decide you're wasting my time, _Sergeant_."

"Hey, this is our scene!" The officer snapped. "Who the hell do you think you are? You can't just walk in here...!"

"Yeah, she can." Trip said, having finally arrived. "You probably don't want her to, either. How about you just tell us what happened here, officer, then we'll get out of your way."

"How is this any of Starfleet's business?" He demanded.

Rachel turned a challenging smirk on T'Pol suddenly when she arrived.

Which T'Pol noticed immediately and tossed an eyebrow up in response to.

"You can ask Lady V'Kohl here." Rachel suggested, eyes twinkling.

The sergeant turned his attention on her for a quick glance over...before doing a double take when he realized the woman in the cowboy hat was Vulcan.

"You know something about this?" He demanded. "One of _your _people involved here?"

T'Pol spared Rachel a second disagreeable look before responding.

"In a manner of speaking." She said. "The subject is Sami Biggs, a local citizen, actually..."

"Yeah, I know Sammy." The officer interrupted. "I kind of doubt he had anything to do with this. His dad was a good friend of mine. He was a cop."

"Regardless." T'Pol continued. "We have indications that he may at least be indirectly involved. Can you tell us what occurred here...?"

"I can tell you I don't have time to dick around with Starfleet Intel." The sergeant snapped back. "You get your asses behind that damned cordon and I'll deal with you when I get around to it."

"Sergeant," T'Pol said, speaking calmly and reasonably. "I understand..."

"Behind the cordon." He said, firmly. "Right now."

T'Pol nodded agreeably.

"Very well." She said. "We are prepared to offer our assistance in whatever manner..."

The sergeant was already walking away, shoulders set and very obviously furious.

T'Pol turned on Rachel the moment he was out of earshot.

"That was ill advised." She said, tightly. "It would have been more productive..."

"Yeah, but it was fun." Rachel grinned.

"We should not be drawing attention to ourselves." T'Pol seethed. "Certainly not by claiming authority that can so easily be confirmed as false. And illegal to claim in the first place..."

"Okay, ease up." Rachel frowned. "What, forget to meditate or something? Take a pill."

T'Pol's eyes flashed dangerously...and she turned away suddenly, to stalk back to the bug.

"Damn, what's up _her _butt?" Rachel smirked, looking over at Trip.

Finding him glaring at her, hands out from his sides.

"What the hell's the matter with you, Rachel? Are you _trying _to get us busted?"

"Relax, Trip." She snorted. "You know they never check..."

"Yeah, but you don't pretend to be feds or interpol or anything else until you _have _to." Trip argued, still glaring. "We don't have to. We already know what happened here. We're trying to find Sammy and that's going to be a lot easier to do outside of a jail cell, Rachel."

Rachel rolled her eyes.

"Damn, you guys are boring." She frowned. "And we know where Sammy was not half an hour ago. Right here, putting the zap on people for the fun of it. At least _he's _having a good time."

Trip just sighed harshly and turned away, moving to catch up to T'Pol back at the bug.

Rachel grimaced at his back.

And moved reluctantly to follow, making sure to take her time about it.

Over at the bug, T'Pol caught his eye the moment she could do so. Still angry and just beginning to suppress it...but sharing a specific look with him in the process.

One he recognized easily and returned just as easily.

"V'Kohl, huh?" He asked, quietly. "'Infinite elder of emotion'. Or maybe 'Elder Lady of infinite emotion'. I think you've just been insulted. Didn't know Rachel spoke Vulcan."

"She does not." T'Pol said, simply.

He nodded, but said nothing more as Rachel arrived shortly after.

"Well, if we're not going in there to poke around, what _are _we going to do?" She asked, disgruntled. "Wait around for another call on the police band and go _there _to not investigate, too?"

T'Pol actually sneered a little, before turning to the bug and flinging the rear door open. Trip moved casually to stand to one side, hands folded comfortably at his waist, offering a polite smile to the two or three officers over there that spared them a glare. In order to block their line of sight to T'Pol, in case they might be curious what she was digging out of the trunk.

T'Pol produced the customized scanner from the cache in the back, thumbing it on before explaining.

"Sammy is a Vulcan/Human hybrid." She said. "As such, his lifesign readings can be expected to be quite unique. Easy to discern, even in a heavily populated urban environment."

Rachel drew back, surprised.

"You can track him?"

"Possibly, if he is still anywhere within a three block radius." T'Pol said. "It remains to be seen whether he is and whether the scanner is accurate enough..."

"Can you track V'Sher, you think?" Trip asked over his shoulder.

"Perhaps, but I would not rely on that. Sammy, however...that at least is possible."

"Because she might be around here somewhere, T'Pol." He said, making that point. "The hydrogen bomb lady Rachel was talking about earlier..."

"Yes, I understand, Trip." T'Pol said, shortly.

Trip shut up and waited, deciding that pushing the already grumpy T'Pol was probably not especially wise at the moment. And thank you, Rachel, for irritating her.

They waited, while T'Pol adjusted and readjusted the scanner.

And again, while she continued to do that.

Until...

"Okay, you're not getting anything, are you?" Trip asked.

"No." She said, irritably. "Possibly this scanner is just not advanced enough to accomplish what I intend it to. I should have modified a _Vulcan _scanner."

"I'll get you one for your birthday." Trip said. "So what now?"

"I cannot detect anything resembling a hybrid's lifesign readings, but I have detected Chelsea Sanchez's PetPADD."

Trip blinked in surprise.

"You did? How? And how did you even...?"

"I recorded the digital communications signature of the integral Netgear modem on her PADD earlier today, when we interviewed her." T'Pol explained. "It seemed the logical thing to do, in case locating her again might be required."

"Well, yay for logic. Where is it?"

"Two blocks to the east, in an alleyway."

Trip chewed his cheek a bit at that.

"Well, that doesn't sound good."

"It is likely _not _good." T'Pol agreed. "We will go there in the bug, park across the street and arm ourselves. Sammy is likely still in the area, if he has killed Ms. Sanchez. This will be an emotional moment for him, which we should move quickly to capitalize on."

"Or he kidnapped her and he's long gone." Trip suggested.

"In which case there is nothing else we can do." She said. "We will have to develop another strategy here entirely. Would you care to do that now, so that we can successfully waste what little time remains to us...?"

"Okay, grumpy." Trip frowned. "You're driving, so let's go."

* * *

They arrived in moments, across from the alleyway in question, parking in the alley directly opposite, further back from the street in order to ensure the gaggle of police officers only two blocks away had even less opportunity to notice them arming themselves so illegally.

Trip snatched the case out first, retrieving the spear from within for a quick, visual inspection. The ice was still solid and the weapon was ready. He took the phase pistol T'Pol offered him to tuck away at his back and watched as she took the other herself.

"Don't I get any toys?" Rachel frowned. "All I've got is a comm PADD with a dead battery. Maybe I can throw it really hard..."

T'Pol frowned and handed her a plasma pistol.

Which Rachel eyed ungratefully.

"Wonderful." She frowned. "Guess how much a bolt of plasma will hurt a _sirshos'im_."

"Enough that you can run away." Trip frowned. "These guns are expensive, you know. Bring your own gear next time."

"Can I at least have a...?"

"No." T'Pol said. "And it hardly matters. The spear is the only weapon that will truly be effective here. Be mindful of the environment and reluctant to touch anything that seems especially desirable to touch."

"Yeah, I'm kind of familiar with _sirshos'im_, T'Pol." Rachel grumped. "I was hunting one just the other day...oh, wait, that's right. _This _one, in fact."

"Yes, a very successful hunt." T'Pol said, flatly. "Hence the half dozen Humans in the bar down the street missing their _katra _now..."

"Okay, ladies." Trip frowned. "Probably not the best time for a catfight in the alley. Maybe later?"

"Agreed." T'Pol said, sneering slightly. "Go and retrieve the PADD, search for signs of Sammy or V'Sher. I will make preparations here."

Trip slid the short spear down at his side, spearhead mere inches from the ground, doing his best to conceal it against his leg in order to walk across the dark but nonetheless very public street with what was obviously a deadly weapon.

He grinned and winked at T'Pol.

"Be right back." He said. "Make sure you're ready, darlin'."

"I will be ready, Trip." She assured him.

And they shared a short, intimate look then. Each reassuring the other.

Trip nodding then, turning to lead the way across the street with Rachel following behind, already looking bored.

While T'Pol began digging in the cache for the materials she needed, to be ready for when she returned.


	21. The End of Sammy Boggs

Nothing more than the necessary gap between building, the access to rear doors and home of dumpsters and garbage bins. A place for trash and refuse to gather, to commiserate together on their misfortunate circumstance. Slime on the walls, graffiti from who knows what hoodlum braving the place in the daylight hours. The smell of trash and urine and things left to rot.

It was dirty, it was dark, it stank just enough to be offensive. So of course his dying here didn't seem like any kind of impossibility to Trip's mind. It was pretty much the sort of place he'd always expected to end up dying. All that remained now was to stumble across the _sirshos'im _in there somewhere, make a simple, dumb mistake and get his soul snatched out.

He stood there surveying as much of the alleyway as he could from the street, from the sidewalk, just beyond the reach of the place. There with Rachel, who presented much the same measure of dread and concern...

"Are we going to stand around admiring it or go find the PADD?" Rachel said, irritably.

So, okay. Facing death in nasty, dark places. Nothing to it, done it before.

Trip moved in, spear at the ready, eyes sharp. Doing his best to see what lay hidden in every shadow before it could leap out and make him squeal like a girl.

And Rachel moved around him almost gruffly, as if he'd gotten in her way. Which he probably had, stalking carefully right down the middle of the alleyway like that. Putting the most average distance between himself and everything in there, naturally, to give himself time not to squeal like a girl when it jumped out at him.

He did manage to stare at Rachel a bit when she started poking around in the dark and kicking things out of the way, looking for the PADD. As if there _weren't _monsters hiding in the shadows around here.

She saw the look after a while and she frowned at him.

"You've got the spear." She said, gesturing at him. "Cover me while I look. All _I've _got is a stupid plasma pistol."

He almost just gave up and stopped being so careful. Rachel wasn't being careful and it sort of made him feel a little stupid and awkward.

But, no, there were monsters in the shadows. He kept one hand forward for balance, the other holding the spear back, ready to thrust. Eyeing everything sharply, intently and all at once. Until Rachel suddenly stopped poking around so noisily and stood there staring down at something she'd uncovered behind that farthest dumpster...

Trip made his way over, keeping an eye out for whatever that was probably intended to distract them from. The thing waiting to jump out at them.

It was Chelsea Sanchez lying there, he saw. Once he came to stand next to Rachel he could see her there, half hidden beneath a hastily scattered layer of trash. Very obviously dumped there and not having fallen on her own.

Both arms mottled black, from the hands to well beyond the wrists. Whatever she'd touched, she must have grabbed on tight with both hands and not let go until there was nothing left of her.

"Well," Rachel said, snorting. "A dead stripper in a dirty alleyway under the light of the moon. I'd like to say that's unusual but I bet it really isn't."

"I'm guessing the PADD's in her pocket." Trip said, grimly.

Rachel was already stooping down to pat around, reaching into Chelsea's front pocket to pull the PADD out. Flipping it upright to show him with a smirk before tossing it disrespectfully to plop right on the dead woman's stomach.

She stood up, looking around curiously.

"I guess our _sirshos'im _boy is around here somewhere." She said. "Feeling sorry for himself...or, no, probably having fun with his new girlfriend right about now. Bet he can't wait to get home to a nice, damp cloth and a bottle of hand lotion."

Trip winced.

"Jesus, Rachel." He said, frowning.

And Rachel winced as well.

"Let's just find him." She snapped, suddenly.

Trip raised the spear a little, gesturing onward toward the opposite street. A clear 'lead the way then' sort of gesture.

Rachel moved on, still glaring at him a bit, but turning her sudden ire on the street beyond once she reached it, looking for Sammy.

The street wasn't entirely deserted. No one out on the sidewalk in either direction, at least within sight, but there were lights on in windows high above the street here and there, cars parked all the way down on both sides, the rhythmic thumping of music from a bar on a far corner, bright lights of a convenience store directly across from that...

There was no one there, though. No one on the street. And nowhere a confused _sirshos'im _might have stumbled away to hide and adjust himself to what he'd done, other than the same, twin sister alleyway to the one they stood on the cusp of at the moment, waiting for them on the far side.

Trip and Rachel shared a frown. So, yes, that's probably right where he'd gone and, yes, Trip figured that meant the nasty, depressing death in an dark, smelly alleyway was still on the table.

They made their way across the street, Rachel in the lead with Trip close behind, doing his best to keep the Vulcan spear he carried from being any more loudly obvious than it was.

They reached the entrance to the alleyway.

And found the door to the abandoned building right next door slightly ajar. A quick step over and a moment's examination...maybe it hadn't been forced open anytime recently, but the fact remained that it was accessible now. Stuck, so that it could only be pushed open enough for a grown man to _barely _squeeze through, but...

"Crap." Trip said, looking down at that.

Rachel shrugged. "There's two of us."

"Rather there still be two of us when we find him." Trip said. "Instead of, let's say, only _one_."

Rachel smirked.

"Don't be such a wuss. You take the alley, I'll take the scary...what, office building? What is this place?"

"Old laundry." Trip said, waving a hand at the faded sign still hanging by the door.

"They still have those?" Rachel said, curling her lip a bit at the old, broken down building.

Trip stared at her for a moment.

"No." He said, flatly. "That's why it's _abandoned_..."

"Okay, don't be a smart ass. Go stab a _sirshos'im._"

"What about you? You don't have an ice spear in your pocket, do you?"

She shrugged, patting at her chest, just beneath her neckline.

"I've got a Vulcan talisman that ought to work." She said, peering through the crack in the door. "I'll just yell if I find him and you come running with the spear."

Trip looked surprised at the talisman claim, to which she smirked yet again.

"You really should have done your research a little better, Trip..." She said.

"Well, okay," He frowned, shrugging broadly. "This thing kinda just got dumped in our laps."

"Why don't you go find the monster before he figures out running away would be the _not _stupid thing to do, yeah?"

Trip grumbled, turning to head off down the alleyway without further delay. But, all of a sudden...

Baby laughter.

_Thump thump-thump..._

Trip fumbled and snatched his PADD out quickly, thumbing the button to stop the noise from alerting everything lurking in the dark within a quarter mile to his exact location.

"Trip, what?" He whispered harshly, into the comm.

He straightened up suddenly, alarmed. That got Rachel's attention, so she paused to watch.

"Tali? What...?" Trip said, into the comm. Then his eyes narrowed. "Are you _drunk?"_

He listened for a short moment, then slumped.

"Well, no...look, this is a bad time...no, a _really _bad time..."

He straightened up again.

"You're what?" He said, looking suddenly irritated. "Yeah, I know. What the hell, Tali...? No, I said _three days_...no, that's _not _that long!"

He listened again, looking over at Rachel now in disbelief.

Then frowned, face going cold.

Dropping the comm from his ear to look at it in his hand for a moment, the sound of someone very upset, and very drunk, squawking mildly into the air.

Then he thumbed the comm, ending the call. And tapped a few more buttons fiercely immediately thereafter, before pocketing it again.

Looking...fairly irritated.

Rachel just stared, arms crossed now, bemused.

"Girlfriend." He said, shortly, seeing the look.

"Yeah, I gathered." She smirked. "So you just hang up on her?"

"Well...she's probably pretty pissed off right now." He said, admitting the obvious. "But I was going to break up with her when I got back anyway, so..."

Rachel chuckled.

"I'm surprised, Trip. I thought you still had the hots for T'Pol."

Trip shrugged, grinning wryly. "Well, hell, who doesn't?"

Rachel rolled her eyes at that, just about to remind him they had a monster to go kill...but he was frowning again, considering something.

"What?" She asked, curious now.

Trip hesitated.

"Look..." He said, uncertainly. "How bad is it that she gets drunk and calls me from some other guy's place to bitch at me about how he didn't have my stamina and passed out on her? And how that's my fault because I left for three days."

Rachel stared.

"I mean," He added. "That's pretty bad, right?"

"Well...I guess it depends on how you look at it." Rachel said.

"I think that's probably pretty bad, though." Trip said, frowning.

"Most people would say so." Rachel said. "Sounds like a fun girl to me."

"Okay." He nodded. "Just...wanted to be sure..."

"So you want to forget about the _sirshos'im _and talk about your girl troubles some more, Trip?"

He frowned.

"No, let's just do the thing." He grumbled, gesturing vaguely at the alley.

Rachel snorted, turning to duck quickly through the crack of the door and into the darkness beyond.

Leaving Trip feeling...a little stupid and off balance. And, yeah, that was bad. Of course that was bad. He just...didn't care as much as he should. _That's _what was wrong here...

He should be all kinds of upset. Heartbroken, even. Instead he was irritated that she'd called out of the blue to dump a bunch of crazy on him _right now_, when he already had all _this _going on.

That's not how he should be feeling right now, is all.

He was having a pretty weird night all of a damned sudden here.

All the more so when he didn't even get ten meters down the alleyway before he suddenly found T'Pol standing there in the moonlight.

In her underwear. Sky blue, very well fitting, cotton underwear.

In the moonlight. Wearing that.

He stared for a second. Because...well, yeah. He stared for a second.

"I can't possibly be that damned shallow." He said, glaring. "And...obvious."

T'Pol just stared back at him. Eyes a little soft but otherwise not very expressive. Not doing anything in particular but standing there in her underwear in the moonlight.

Trip sighed, tearing enough of his attention away from _that _sight to be aware of anything that might be sneaking up on him. Considering whether to holler for Rachel and deciding she was probably already too far away to get there quick enough, and how that'd just set Sammy off anyway. He'd either run or fight if he yelled out, either of which would happen before she could do anything about it.

And he had the ice spear, after all.

"Come on out, Sammy." Trip said, loudly. "I know you didn't mean for this to happen, so come on out. Let's _talk _about this."

T'Pol had an opinion on that, apparently.

"It's not my fault." She said, sadly. "It was an accident."

Trip sighed. "Yeah, that's what I figured, Sammy."

"I'm scared...mom's coming..."

"Then we need to take care of this right now." Trip said, firmly.

T'Pol looked lost and uncertain then, even wringing her hands nervously.

"I don't...I don't know what to do..." She stuttered.

"Sammy," Trip said, carefully. "If you really don't want to live like this, we can help you. Take you somewhere safe until we can figure out what to do..."

Something moved behind him and he spun around, stepping to the side, free arm extended and spear raised for a strong downward thrust...

Pretty quickly and smoothly, in fact. Surprisingly how all the old training had stuck with him, despite having followed up on not a bit of it in the last five years.

T'Pol was standing there.

The _other _T'Pol. The fully dressed version.

Trip slumped in relief a little, lowering the spear again.

"He's around here somewhere." He said, quietly.

T'Pol wasn't looking at him, though. She was looking at the blue cotton underwear model T'Pol. With one eyebrow very judgmentally raised.

Then she turned that eyebrow on him, obviously displeased.

"Okay, yeah, I know." Trip frowned. "Give me a break."

To the side, just within their peripheral vision, the Vulcan underwear model shimmied and transformed, bringing their attention back to it. Transformed into a young, rather scared and anxious looking Vulcan teenager.

T'Pol considered that, eyes narrowed.

"It is another thoughtform." She decided. "Sammy is still in hiding nearby."

Trip glanced around, while T'Pol kept an eye on that thing.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, frowning back at her. "I probably would have stabbed you just now, if...well, if..."

"If I were not already standing nearby in my underwear." T'Pol said, flatly. "You were taking too long. Where is Rachel?"

"In there." He said, gesturing at the building at hand. "T'Pol...we might be able to help him..."

"You can't help me." Sammy said, sadly.

T'Pol agreed.

"He's right, Trip." She said. "We cannot help him."

That frustrated him instantly.

"We could _try_." He argued.

"There is only one thing we can do here, Trip." She said, softly.

Trip shook his head, denying that.

"We can at least try." He insisted, before calling out again. "Sammy? We're going to find you eventually. If you come out and let us help you, this doesn't have to end badly..."

"Trip." T'Pol said, frowning.

"Damnit, we have to try, T'Pol!"

The thoughtform off to the side suddenly disappeared.

And Sammy appeared again, stepping out of the shadows further down the alleyway now. Shuffling hesitantly into the moonlight, eyeing T'Pol nervously.

"Sammy..." Trip said.

"She's going to kill me." Sammy said, frightened.

"If that is necessary." T'Pol said, coldly.

"Nobody's killing anybody." Trip insisted, one hand already up between the two to make clear that wasn't going to happen.

"Trip, he is a _sirshos'im_."

"And maybe he doesn't want to be, T'Pol." Trip argued. "There's got to be something we can do here. We just...need to do a little research, that's all."

T'Pol frowned again, holding out her hand to him.

"Give me the spear, Trip."

_"T'Pol..." _He warned, ready to argue.

"I am stronger and more skilled in its use." She pointed out. "I will not kill him so long as he is not a threat."

Trip hesitated.

T'Pol turned an intense stare on Sammy, though, hand still held out for the spear.

"But the moment that he is, I _will _kill him." She said.

Trip hesitated a little more, but...that _was _the logical thing to do.

He twirled the spear around, handing it over butt-first to T'Pol, who accepted took it gracefully.

And immediately turned to launch it strongly out into the dark, back down the alleyway, out across the street beyond, into the _other _alleyway.

Where it clanked and bounced noisily around in the dark way, _way _over there for a short couple of seconds.

Then she turned back to him, face perfectly blank...and promptly disappeared.

Trip stared in shock for only a split second before he whirled around again. Finding Sammy coming for him now, smirking evilly.

So, right. That simple, dumb mistake he was going to make that got his soul snatched out of him. He'd apparently done that.

Trip thought quickly.

Already dropping back, shuffling backward, hands coming up into some kind of fighting stance...

Thinking hard. What do we know about _sirshos'im_? Strong, durable, fast and hyper-aware. But this was just a dumb Vulcan kid, right? Feeling his oats now that he had a few souls in him. Coming to fight the ridiculous Human who'd dared think he could take him on...

So, okay. He could handle this.

Sammy was in his face all of a sudden though. Because, yeah, super fast _sirshos'im _can do that.

Right in front of him now, reaching out...

Trip reached out without thinking, stepping back as he did, reaching across to grab and pull that wrist toward him...past him...on beyond him, spinning around Sammy as he stumbled by now. And kept spinning, raising his free elbow up to strike him in the face when he tried to stagger to a stop and turn around again.

Sammy stumbled right on back now, barely keeping his feet. Head thrown back from the blow, looking stunned.

But he was on him again not a split second later, growling now.

Trip went on the offensive, before he could strike. Before he could try his hand at snatching souls up close and personal. He couldn't have done that yet and maybe it wouldn't come naturally to him...

Maybe, just maybe, _sirshos'im _couldn't even _do _that.

Sammy was quick, though. _Insanely _fast. Trip threw wide, strong punches at first, as rapidly as he could, putting Sammy on the defensive. A wide right arcing in, which Sammy slapped away. Another from the left, deflected, another instantly from the right, slapped aside.

So Sammy wasn't prepared for the fierce, strong uppercut Trip brought in, his right arm already raised to block the wide swing he was expecting, and he was already entirely on the defensive. He was quick, but not near _that _quick.

Trip struck hard, coming in from down low right to the chin, clacking Sammy's teeth together sharply and knocking his head back. Defenses thrown wide open for the forward step and powerful, flat out vicious stomp to the chest.

Amazingly, even startling Trip, Sammy slapped it away out of nowhere. Reacting impossibly fast, swinging down hard, swatting his leg away and stepping right in to punch Trip in the face before he even saw it coming.

He staggered back himself now, off balance, more than a little stunned...

That freakin' kid hit _hard_. Maybe he had no skill or training whatsoever but he _was _part Vulcan. And one hundred percent _sirshos'im_, apparently.

Trip's lip bled, cut against his own teeth, and his vision swam for a moment...plenty long enough for Sammy to dart forward, leaping into the air with a loud growl, coming down wildly with both fists.

He leveled Trip instantly, knocking him crawling to the ground. Sending a hard kick of his own to the torso from the side before Trip even knew where he was or how got there.

Trip went sprawling, up against the wall nearby, stunned again.

And then Sammy had him.

Snarling wickedly down at him, one hand snatched into his shirt to hold him, the other drawn back, as if he intended to strike again. But that hand was wide open, fingers slightly curled, like a claw. Glowing a sick green all of a sudden.

And Trip's chest suddenly began to glow as well, before he could do anything about that.

And it _hurt_.

It hurt _deep_. Way down deep inside, where..._he _was. He could feel..._himself_...being pulled away, pulled _out_.

Losing his grip on..._everything_.

He scrambled there, looking desperately for the instincts that should be there, telling him what to do about this. He couldn't find them at first.

Then he suddenly did. Then some part of him remembered what to do here.

He dug in, digging his awareness in and holding on. Pulling back, resisting. And pushing _back _at the sick, foreign thing invading him. He slipped a little once, the draw was too powerful, Sammy's grip on him too tight.

But he dug in all the more fiercely, putting everything he had into it. His chest _burning _with it now...

Then a black shoe appeared out of darkness, lancing out across Sammy's chest, sending him suddenly flying back.

Trip felt his soul snap back into place, and he jerked, crying out from it. Curling up despite himself, holding on tight. Sparing only the barest bit of awareness to look over.

Rachel was there, the spear in her hand, smirking every bit as wickedly as Sammy had only a moment ago. Stalking forward after him, where he scrambled backward on the ground.

Her eyes bright and sadistic, focused on nothing but killing Sammy where he lay, crawling backward away from her...

A quick, subtle flash of green...

And a beam of light shot out, illuminating Rachel where she stood.

"Freeze! Vegas PD! Drop your weapon!"

She paused, glancing up at the police officer suddenly standing there, shining the light in her face, aiming the plasma pistol at her.

And she smirked, moving forward again with no more pause than that.

_"Rachel..." _Trip groaned. Trying to warn her.

"It's not real, stupid." She snorted.

"Drop your weapon, _now!"_

Rachel raised the spear high, grinning wickedly again...

"Drop your weapon or I _will _fire on you!"

...and brought it down, striking Sammy through the gut where he lay, right where the liver would have been if he were Human.

He choked loudly, hands jerking to grasp the spear thrust through him. Through and into the hard concrete beneath him by at least three inches. The police officer and the phantom flashlight suddenly gone, as quickly as they'd appeared.

Rachel laughed quietly, staring Sammy in the eyes as he struggled weakly against the spear.

And he managed one quick gasp before he choked again, coughing it out in a plume of frigid breath. Skin already turning slightly blue-green. His eyes rolling back in his head before the frost began to form on his skin, freezing him solid almost instantly.

Rachel let go of the spear and stepped back. And she kept stepping back while Sammy's frozen body began to crack quietly.

Trip's eyes widened, not quite so badly injured that he didn't remember what was about to happen. He groaned and put everything he had into crawling away.

"Relax." Rachel smirked. "He's only got a half dozen in him. That's nothing."

And she was right. He shattered quietly, with nothing but a mild bluish-purple flash to even _suggest _anything like the explosively escaping _katra _Trip had been warned about. A mild, subtle shock wave brushed the air, but that was all.

It was quiet for a moment.

The alleyway suddenly containing nothing but a beaten Trip, a sadistically aroused Rachel and a scattered handful of frozen, rapidly evaporating bits of Sammy. And the spear itself, still stuck there in the middle of it all.

Rachel laughed again suddenly.

"How often do you see a Vulcan freeze to death and shatter to bits, huh?" She said, grinning over at him.

She looked back at the last pieces of Sammy Boggs, already disappearing.

"I think that's kind of ironic, maybe." She said, cocking her head a little and grinning.


	22. The Ruthless Mercies of Sophia

**Cargill Salt Terminal  
****Tampa, Florida  
****(five hours earlier)****  
**

Jahi sat in the circle, legs crossed, hands on her knees. Sitting still, not humming any longer.

Not humming, not singing, not smiling even.

Jahi was going quietly mad.

Her fingers flexed slightly, in and out. Jerking occasionally to pick at the fabric of her jeans at the knee. Her neck twitched now and then as well, keeping time with the simultaneous tick of her right eye.

Her breath was ragged sometimes and she huffed occasionally.

And every great once in a while she was compelled to express herself verbally, as she was now.

She drew a deep breath, fists clenched at her knees, and she _screamed_.

_"I'm...BORED!"_

The salt walls of the chamber echoed with it. And otherwise utterly ignored her outburst.

Breathing rapidly immediately thereafter, trying and failing to expel the frustration and rage welling up inside her, Jahi's fingers picked fretfully at her jeans again, already threatening to wear a hole in them.

Until she suddenly stopped, frozen. Her awareness focused sharply now on the presence in the chamber with her.

"It's hasn't even been an hour, Jahi."

Jahi swayed slightly, as she gave herself over to the wry humor that flowed so wonderfully through her then.

So relieved...oh, so relieved, to _experience _something again.

"Ah, Sophia." She sighed, smiling with relief.

"Jahi." The woman said, politely. Standing over her, looking down from her side.

Jahi looked up, meeting her eyes, leering.

"So very good to see _you _again, sister." She smirked.

"No, I think it isn't." Sophia said.

"Just being polite."

"You're not very good at it."

Jahi laughed.

"And now it _is _true." She said. "Now I am delighted."

Sophia stepped around, to come and stand before her now.

"Yet only a moment ago, screaming insanely. Overwhelmed and tormented at less than an hour's lack of stimulus."

Jahi shrugged lightly.

"So I'm a little histrionic."

"More than a little." Sophia corrected. "And that does not bode well for you, should you go to the pit."

Jahi's eyes hardened instantly.

"Do you think you've come to send me there, Sophia?" She challenged.

"If I had, you would be there already." Sophia said, calmly. "No, as always, sister, I seek to bring you to wisdom."

"For what purpose?" Jahi hissed, bitterly. "Keep your wisdom, sister. It's of no use to me."

"Wisdom may yet keep you out of that place." Sophia pointed out.

"But not the fire. So what does it matter? Be on your way, to gloat over your fallen sister _elsewhere_."

"I do not gloat, Jahi. I grieve for my sister..."

"Piss off and grieve for _that!"_

Sophia considered that suggestion.

And nodded lightly.

"Tempted to madness and despair in one moment, cursing your sister from the very edge of the abyss the next. Look where your pride had brought you, Jahi. How low you've fallen."

"Not so low as I've yet to fall." Jahi snarled madly. "Wait and see the depths I've yet to plumb here!"

"Yes, your clever plot to lay waste to the Earth." Sophia nodded, patiently.

Jahi smirked. "Hardly a _waste_, Sophia."

"I recall no prophecy concerning the Earth that allows for such a thing." Sophia said.

"Perhaps your Father can _write _one when I'm done."

Sophia's voice grew hard then. Enough that even Jahi was moved to caution.

"_Our _Father has spoken already on this matter." Sophia said, coldly. "_Our _Father. Mine and yours as well. Dare not to forget that, lest you give me cause to remind you. You struggle in vain, as always, my bitter sister."

"Leave me." Jahi muttered, looking away. "I've had enough of you ages ago."

"Then I will leave you, as you request." Sophia nodded.

"To suffer!" Jahi snapped, immediately. "Suffer, so that you can gloat and know you are superior! Isn't that the way of it, sister?!"

"Not at all." Sophia said.

And she raised a hand, gracefully and even beautifully...

Though Jahi flinched to see it, not imagining what judgment came upon her now.

Sophia waved her hand to the side...wiping away the borders of the devil's traps binding Jahi, both above and below.

Jahi nearly stared, stunned...for only a moment. Then she laughed instead.

"What do you think you do?" She laughed. "You know what I intend."

"I do." Sophia said. "Go and do as you will, Jahi."

Jahi was on her feet in a flash, grinning madly and triumphantly.

"I will!" She said, viciously. "Oh, watch and see what I do!"

Sophia shrugged lightly, unconcerned.

"Go, then." She said. "Go and do as you have determined to do. But know when you do this, that you do it only because your Father had granted it to you."

"And why would He do that?" Jahi snapped. "What kind of fool..."

Sophia's eyes lit with fire at that, so that Jahi stifled herself quickly. Knowing already how close she stood to the pit.

"Perhaps so that you might blaspheme in my presence, sister." Sophia said, warningly. "Blaspheme and earn your place in the pit."

Jahi snorted, feigning boldness she felt not at all that moment.

Sophia stared intently, piercingly, until Jahi was tempted to tremble.

"Go, Jahi." Sophia said, almost ordering that thing with the authority in her voice. "Go and do as you will. Go, so that you might see for yourself and establish for all eternity that nothing you do, no power you dare to wield, stands against the will of the Father. Struggle in vain today, Jahi, so that you have no excuse and no accusation. When hell comes for you and you are thrown into the fire, you will have only lies to offer. The truth condemns you both now and then, sister."

Jahi trembled.

And not only with fear now, but with rage. Bitterness, impotence and rage.

_"I will." _She growled. Both a promise and a threat.

"Go, then." Sophia said, unconcerned. "But you will leave that vessel here."

Her hand raised again, gracefully and beautifully once more. And once more Jahi flinched.

Sophia gestured, and barely the vaguest of movements.

Jahi convulsed, tensing. Head thrown back to the ceiling, hands and fingers splayed at her side. Black smoke poured from her mouth and from her eyes, bursting in a gout on the air.

Pouring out, twisting and curling to avoid the salt of the ceiling above, around to recoil from the walls and from the floor. Desperately seeking, and finally finding, the tunnel out from the chamber.

Escaping there quickly to the air outside and the spaces beyond, out from this deep, clean place of salt and judgment.

The woman left behind collapsing to the floor behind her. Left to fall to the earth, trembling and breathing shallow, staring up at the beautiful, blonde archangel standing over her.

The earth trembled. Much as Jahi had trembled, much as the woman fallen to the floor trembled. All the more powerfully than either of them, but nevertheless and largely for the same reasons.

Sophia held out her hands from her sides, one reaching to hold this place together to protect the woman fallen at her feet. The other reaching further out, to hold the chamber a hundred meters below and beyond, where Bobby Palmer was held.

Holding both places together until the earth calmed itself again, settling into place once more. Waiting a moment, for all things to come to rest again.

_"Help...me..." _The woman whispered, staring up at her from the floor.

Sophia considered her then, and she smiled slightly, serenely.

Crouching down to her side. Reaching to take her hand in her own.

"Be at peace." She said. "Your Father has heard you and I have come."

And the woman was at peace, still staring passively back at the archangel beside her. Lost in her beauty and caring now for nothing else but that.

Sophia raised her fingers to her own lips, kissing softly there, before reaching to touch the woman's forehead. Caressing tenderly as her eyes fluttered and closed.

And she slept, in peace.

Sophia gestured again, raising a hand to the air beside her, summoning the four servants to her.

"Take her gently." She said. And they did, raising the woman up from the floor with care and reverence.

"Carry her home from here." Sophia said. "Heal her and comfort her. Watch over her until she leaves this place."

Barely the slightest whoosh and they were gone, leaving Sophia alone.

She stood again and turned her attention to the second chamber.

* * *

Bobby Palmer stared around him, eyes wide. Almost terrified as the earth shook, hearing the tunnels and chambers beyond collapsing all around him. Watching the electric lights strewn on the floor of the room shiver and slide as the earth moved.

Waiting for this chamber to cave in on him and knowing even when it didn't that it might as well have.

He was trapped now. Trapped so many times over that he was tempted to hysteria. And he did gibber a little a couple of times at that. Trapped in a cage, in a chamber of salt, beneath the earth and who knows how far. Even Tucker couldn't come and release him from this place now...

Bobby whimpered a little, despite himself. A consummate badass in any other situation, even having faced death more times than he could count at the hands of this fell creature or that evil thing...to be trapped, helpless now...

He didn't know what to do. He was powerless here. There must be some way out but...he couldn't even think clearly enough to _find _it...

"Where is your faith, Bobby Palmer?"

He jerked around, spinning in place in the cage, still careful even now to avoid the spikes and the power of the thing holding him in check.

A woman, tall and beautiful. Dressed in black and white, golden hair flowing even in the stillness of the salt chamber...

He knew immediately. He knew perfectly well. But he said it anyway.

"Who the hell are you?" He demanded, angrily.

The woman paused at that.

"A poor choice of words." She said, warningly. "You know very well."

"Get me out of here!" Bobby snapped, without a moment's delay.

The woman looked curious at that.

"And why would I do that?"

Bobby blinked in surprise, for only a moment.

"I'm trapped in here!" He yelled.

"So I see." Sophia said, sparing the room a glance. The room and everything beyond that stood between Bobby Palmer and the freedom he imagined.

And the cage itself, with no little distaste evident on her face at its presence.

"So get me out of here!"

Sophia nodded, calmly.

"You do not answer." She noted. "Where is your faith?"

"What...? Faith? What are you...?" Bobby stuttered, amazed and overwhelmed.

"Calm yourself." Sophia suggested.

And he did. He tried to, clenching his fists at his side, huffing and closing his eyes tight for only a brief moment.

"Look," He said, looking at her again. "Just get me _out _of here..."

"You have heard the parable, Bobby Palmer." Sophia said.

Bobby blinked again, confused.

"What? Parab-...what?"

Sophia began to pace, much in the same way Tucker had before. Moving around the cage as he watched her looking back in at him.

"Assuredly, I say to you," Sophia intoned. "If you have faith as a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you."

Bobby stared.

"I...can't..."

"Yes, I know this." Sophia said. "The question is why? And that you refuse to understand."

"Just get me out of here!" Bobby demanded, becoming desperate again.

"A mustard seed is a very small thing." Sophia noted. "Small, but with great promise. Yet your faith is likened to this and found lacking even in that comparison."

Bobby struggled, trying to find something...

"'But we are all like an unclean thing'," Sophia said then, still circling the cage. "'And all our righteousnesses are like filthy rags.'"

She paused, turning to face him squarely again.

"And so even your righteousness suffers by comparison, Bobby Palmer." She said. "Judged and found less than filth."

Bobby breathed rapidly, trying to let the words come. The argument, the demand, that would cause this woman to do what she _must _do. To let him out of here, to rescue him from this place...

"What do you _want?" _He begged, finally. "I don't know what the hell you're _talking _about!"

"You lack the faith even to step beyond this cage." Sophia explained. "The righteousness even to claim freedom. You are less than God and always will be. That is what you refuse to recognize."

"I..." Bobby began.

But he did not finish the sentence he'd barely begun.

"You can not even say it." Sophia said, disapprovingly. "'Yes, I am a man. Yes, I am a low and tremulous worm.' Is it so difficult a truth for you to acknowledge?"

Bobby snarled then. "Just get me_ out of here!"_

Sophia's eyes flashed angrily, so that he stumbled back, suddenly afraid. Back within the confines of the cage, nearly piercing himself with the spikes awaiting him there.

"I am not your servant, Bobby Palmer." Sophia said, warningly. "Do not presume to command me again. You have consorted with demons and even _that _is least among your sins. Shall I name them all? Is there time enough here for that?"

Bobby trembled and he stared.

Until he forgot his fear and found his pride again. Fists clenched once more at his side, ready to strive.

"So that's it?" He snarled, bitterly. "That's how it is? You're just going to stand there until I _beg?"_

"Faith and righteousness, Bobby." She said. "These things you can never claim. They can be imputed to you, as they are to me, but they are not yours and you are not capable of having them of your own."

"Well, you can go to hell." Bobby seethed. "I won't do it."

Sophia nodded.

"Not I, but you."

She turned, stepping away from him, before facing him again from the other side of the chamber.

"You demand mercy and service, son of Adam." She said. "I will give you both in abundance. In mercy, I held back the earth from crushing you here, sending you on quickly to your judgment. And I serve you now, in affording you wisdom. A glimpse of the hell that eagerly awaits you."

She gestured around the room.

"This is your preview of the prison that is to come." She said. "In two hours the electric lights will fail and you be thrown into darkness. Then your prison will be filled with fear and despair. By tomorrow you will be dizzy and faint as dehydration begins. You will experience nausea, cramps and you will begin to heave. You will bleed and you will hurt. And so horror and pain will descend, a preview of the bonds that will hold your rebellion in check for eternity."

"God damn you." Bobby seethed.

"Rather you, if your pride is so great." Sophia said. "Better that you are confined here, and then there when you have passed from this world. The evil you have already done is enough. If you will not bow to your Father, then better that you be put away. I leave you to this mercy, Bobby Palmer. Use it as you will."

"Why?" Bobby demanded. "What have _I _done...?"

"You ask that?" Sophia challenged.

"Maybe I'm not perfect but I'm a hunter! I've risked my life to save...!"

"'Fool! This night your soul will be required of you; then whose will those things be which you have provided?'"

"That's not fair!"

"Who are you to determine that?" Sophia demanded. "You cannot even determine that small thing. In your pride you would stand in your Father's place to make that judgment? You judge _yourself _to be righteous? That is why you are damned, Bobby."

"Then to hell with Him!" Bobby snapped. "And you! What have any of you ever done for us? We don't _need _you...!"

"Continue your rant, by all means." Sophia said. "You prove the justice here with every word of it."

Bobby stifled, grimacing in rage.

Sophia observed, until it was clear he refused now to speak further.

"The door is open." She said. "The offer extended to you, even until the end. Your Father waits and calls to you, Bobby. The choice is only yours. Make it soon, while you are still able. You will be His or you will be your own."

And she was gone. Turning to walk away...then simply, suddenly gone. It couldn't be said for certain that she'd even disappeared.

* * *

Sophia soared on the air, through the spaces between things, arriving again to watch over her charge where she hunted in the city. This loathsome city that prided itself on sin and debauchery.

Following on the wind, observing her with her mate. Watching unseen as the demon joined them. Whispering quietly to the soul tormented there, bringing it comfort enough to endure a little longer.

Whispering again, suggesting things. Nudging her charge's awareness gently to the signs that were there, until she knew what evil had come into her company. Doing the same for the man, until they shared an unspoken look, sharing that awareness between them.

Turning the peacekeeper's pride away when the demon roused it, so that he left them rather than challenging them further. Reminding her of the whore's PADD, so that she thought to check and detect it with her scanner when she could not find the _sirshos'im_, as she intended. Listening as she considered her plan to deal with the demon then, blessing that so that it would succeed...as much as she could allow it to.

Watching over her in the alley while she worked, after her mate and the demon had gone to hunt the _sirshos'im_.

And there Sophia had cause to experience joy, watching her charge construct the device that she did. The man and his father had designed the thing and it was indeed something even her Father took delight in. Who could ever have predicted such a thing? In no way, when the laws were first put in the place, had it ever been considered that Humans would use them as they did here. To find such uses for the protections granted them was a wonderful thing to behold.

This was the joy and delight of free beings. So often they did evil that could not even truly be imagined until it was done. Predicted, perhaps, but not truly foreseen until they conceived it and moved to accomplish it.

But often enough conceiving of things as beautiful as this. A new thing, springing into being not from the Father's mind but from their own, even independent of Him. And yet, despite that, still in accordance with His will.

This is why her Father had created them. They were like He was in that way. Not righteous and not perfect, but they were creators and doers as He was. And truly He loved them for it.

Sophia moved unseen to admire the device. Reaching to touch it, seeing the ways it would succeed in what it was intended to so. Noting the critical point where it would fail, in that these mortals did not fully comprehend the laws that governed it. It would succeed well enough, however, so Sophia blessed it gladly.

She waited again, watching over her charge, until she observed her mate return alone. Observed and spoke to him, greeting him and seeking to comfort him, unsure of how and why he suffered as he suddenly, clearly did.

Reaching out without touching, seeking to comfort...and suffering shock and shame at what he'd discovered of her. The secret, terrible thing she'd kept from him, that he seemed now to know.

Sophia was moved to grieve for her then. She watched patiently, ready to intervene when the opportunity presented itself. Ready to force that opportunity, if necessary.

Lies filled the air, enough to disgust her, but Sophia endured it, waiting patiently.

Watching as her charge moved closer, still trying to reach out to her mate. Trying to connect and ease his suffering.

Watching as she saw him succumb to despair, revealing the weapon in his hand. Raising it to his own head to end his life and the unbearable pain of it. Knowing then what would happen here and that she _must _move to stop it, whatever the cost.

And Sophia stood beside her then, at that moment.

Whispering to her, evoking wisdom in her, to perceive and do the impossible thing required of her here...

And T'Pol froze.

Her hand out, almost touching. Reaching to stop what threatened to happen before her.

Aware now. So that she moved no further. Doing nothing to stop Trip from pulling the trigger and ending his life.


	23. Aiming for the Heart

T'Pol searched for and eventually found a simple, cardboard box abandoned in the alley. She made use of it immediately, breaking it down to lay flat near the rear of the cargo bug. Just out of reach of the door and tossed to the ground casually. Enough that it didn't threaten to obscure a devil's trap inscribed on the concrete floor of the alleyway, should Rachel prove that wary.

Enough though that she would be sure to stand entirely on the surface of the cardboard at some point, especially if Trip led her to. That would be sufficient.

She mounted the infrared laser projectors, on the wall and on the corner of the bug, activating and testing them quickly once she had. It took a few minutes to adjust them, so that the projected holographic image was sharp enough and aimed where it was supposed to be. A few more minutes ensuring the frequency was correct, so that it could penetrate without causing unnecessary damage.

Then she stood back to survey the scene. The impromptu cardboard mat was unremarkable, the projectors powered and ready to be triggered. So she was prepared. All that was required was to wait for Trip and Rachel to return, then they would deal with the demon who'd possessed their comrade.

It was a unique and unexpected opportunity to test both the device and its intended use. So, logically, this proved quite fortunate. Hopefully it would even work.

Barring that they would be forced to resort to less preferable methods. She had a small, one-shot canister of compressed holy water in her pocket that would at least weaken it and give it pause. She would then engage it physically and attempt to hold it in place until Trip could exorcise it.

Even that merely to force the demon from Rachel's body. There was nowhere level and unbroken enough in the alley to inscribe a reliable devil's trap, so a very quick and dirty exorcism would be required. That would simply leave the demon free, rather than sending it to the pit or consigning it to space. While she and Trip both were sealed against possession themselves, that would not stop the demon from simply finding another host somewhere nearby.

Not at all an agreeable outcome, but if it came to that then that would simply be the best they could do here.

Trip returned ahead of schedule. She was already fully prepared, but that was unexpected.

And Rachel was not with him. Nor did he have the spear, which was another matter altogether.

She stared, even as he walked...or _slumped_, in fact...past her into the alleyway.

He was disturbed. Quite obviously disturbed. And he was wounded, having suffered a laceration to his mouth. It was apparent he'd found and engaged with Sammy, and if he was here at all, then that matter had been taken care of.

But, still. She watched, a little confused, as she slumped against the wall of the alleyway. Not looking at her, saying nothing...

"Trip?" She said. "What has happened?"

"She's gone." He said, staring tiredly at the ground. "Took the spear."

T'Pol considered that, but...

"And Sammy?"

"Dead." Trip shrugged. "Mostly Rachel...whatever, he's done."

"What of V'Sher?"

"Either here already or on her way." Trip said, quietly. "Sammy thought so, at least."

T'Pol stared at him, watching.

There was something very wrong.

"Trip, what is it?"

He was silent, not answering quickly, and T'Pol suppressed anxiety. Something was _very _wrong...

"You know _sirshos'im _can read minds?" He said, finally. "Didn't know that. Guess I should have figured. How else are they gonna know what thoughtform will work...?"

"It read your mind?" She guessed.

"Read yours."

Her eyebrow quirked in surprise.

"How is that...?"

"Back at the strip club the other day." Trip said, quietly. "Told you he was watching."

T'Pol considered that, and yes, it was obvious. But that didn't not explain his behavior.

His...demeanor. He was overwhelmed, oppressed. _Afflicted _by...something.

"Trip, what has happened to you?"

"I know, T'Pol." He said, sadly. "Sammy showed me. Don't think he meant to, but...I saw it."

"Trip, what are you talking about?"

"What you had _planned_, T'Pol." He said, suddenly bitter.

He was angry with her.

She said nothing, waiting to see. Waiting for him to reveal...

"What you had planned." He said again, his teeth clenched. "Very logical."

"Trip, I don't know what you are talking about..."

"Really?" He snapped, suddenly. Glaring at her now. "Your little romance novels? It's pretty goddamned obvious, now that I had my _face _shoved in it."

T'Pol blinked at that, even taking a step back.

"Trip...?"

"That's why you didn't bond with dad, right?" Trip demanded. "How much longer was he gonna live? A few decades, maybe?"

T'Pol's eyes shot wide and she froze.

No.

No, that wasn't possible.

"Takes two to tango with a bond like that, right?" Trip snapped. "You didn't _want _to bond to him, that's why you didn't. He'd get old pretty quick, right? And then when _I _would older...old _enough_..._then _what?"

T'Pol...panicked.

No, not now. Not after everything...

This couldn't be happening now.

"Trip..." She stuttered, trying to explain.

"No, don't you dare." Trip seethed. "You..._bitch! _How you could do that? What the hell is the _matter _with you?"

"Trip, I _didn't_..."

"Do you have any idea how much I _hate _your right now, T'Pol?"

T'Pol closed her eyes, her knees almost buckling with the pain and horror of that.

"Trip," She gasped. "Please, _listen _to me..."

"How could you...?" Trip seethed, even still. And she could see tears forming in his eyes. "_God_, T'Pol..."

"I didn't understand." She stuttered. "Trip, I didn't...I was young..."

"Horseshit." Trip huffed. "No, it was perfectly logical, wasn't it? Of course it was! You've got the old man to keep you company for a while, until Trip was old enough. Then you're in your fifties and...me? I'm twenty-something. You'd be good 'til you were a hundred and fifty then."

"Let me explain." T'Pol said, swallowing her panic. "Trip, please..."

"What next?" He demanded. "Hire a freelance genetics team? Get to work on the next generation, so you could have a _third _mate handy, ready to go when _I _died?"

"No, Trip." She denied, desperate. "No..._listen_..."

"Oh, I get it." He said, tiredly. Slumping all the more now against the wall.

"I was wrong." She said, more evenly now. "I _didn't_, Trip. When I tried with your father...I didn't understand until then what that it would do to you..."

"Yes, you did." Trip said, bitterly. "What do you care? Just a bunch of stupid emotion..."

"Trip, I never wanted to hurt you. Neither of you. I would rather die than that."

"Well, you did." He said, tiredly. "You have no idea what you've done to me."

"Trip, please..."

He had a phase pistol in his hand.

That fact suddenly struck her. Leapt and seized her entire awareness, so that she froze again.

She knew then. Knew perfectly and with crystal clarity.

He was going to kill her.

Here, in this dark alleyway. A 'crime of passion', that very same concept he'd referenced before. One he understood far better than she did.

She understood it now.

And...in a way...perhaps welcomed it. It was, arguably, justified in the end, wasn't it? Appropriate at least, if not justified.

T'Pol let out a sigh and her shoulders fell. Already resigned.

This had largely been inevitable, had it not? From the very first, from the day she realized everything she'd planned had fallen apart so impossibly. When she realized at last and finally that what was logical and reasonable simply did not necessarily apply to Humans.

She'd destroyed everything she'd meant to cherish.

"God help me." Trip said. And tears did fall from his eyes then.

This was the first time she'd seen him cry since he was child, she suddenly realized. Never before had the hunter's life allowed that of him.

Her heart was crushed, ground to powder under the weight of all she'd done so wrong here. The weight of every precious thing she'd blindly destroyed...because it had seemed so perfectly logical to do so.

And she hadn't done that. She'd realized...perhaps almost too late, but...she _hadn't_. She'd finally understood before...

"God help me, but I do love you, T'Pol." He whispered.

Understood too late, it would seem though. The damage she'd thought she'd averted...the worst of it, at least...

It was done now, all of it. Despite everything, it had been done. Everything was lost.

"I'm sorry." She said.

Perhaps her last words. And if they were, then they were fitting.

Trip raised the phase pistol...but not against her. He tucked it carefully beneath his own chin...

The cold shock of that sight lanced through her.

Wrong again. Yes, even again.

She lunged forward, already reaching out.

"Trip!" She cried, entirely despite herself. _"Trip, no!"_

And someone whispered...

Someone, somewhere whispered to her...

As she reached out, desperate and mindless. Less than a meter away, only one, short panicked step away...

_He doesn't smell right._

He...

Didn't.

And she froze, stopped cold. _Almost _touching...as the impossible facts of the matter descended on her mind. Falling through the emotion ruling her, filtered and assessed and properly assimilated in one cold, hard instant.

He didn't smell right. He didn't smell _at all. _

He'd walked right past her, into the alleyway. And the scent of him...that perfectly unique, welcome, masculine scent of him that she knew and cherished...

It had never been there. It wasn't there now.

T'Pol only stared, shocked.

She understood. She perceived the truth here. But it stunned her for a moment regardless.

Trip pulled the trigger on the pistol and his head exploded right in front of her.

She even flinched at that, stepping back.

But it wasn't real.

It wasn't _Trip_.

He slumped and fell from the wall, to the floor of the alleyway. He fell as any Human body would, having just emitted a high-powered phased energy shot into their own skull. His body slid down from the wall, fabric making precisely the noise that it should in doing so. He even thumped perfectly and exactly as expected onto the cold, cobblestone.

But that wasn't Trip. It didn't _smell _like Trip.

She stared at the corpse on the ground beside her for a moment, still trying to reconcile the cold, hard, logical facts of the matter with everything her mind otherwise insisted had just happened...

A voice spoke behind her. In fluent Vulcan.

"That is intriguing."

T'Pol turned and she was there, standing by the cargo bug. A elder Vulcan, dressed in decidedly Human clothing. Black leather coat, beige slacks, dress shoes. Even an ornamental ring and a simple gold chain at her neck. Perhaps seeming in her later middle age to Human eyes, but T'Pol could see instantly.

This woman was quite old. Just at the cusp of developing wrinkles and grey hair, all the signs Humans would normally associate with the elderly.

And T'Pol knew well enough, she was far, far older even than that.

"Perhaps my best work in a long time." The woman said, eyebrow cocked curiously. "Your emotions are very close to the surface as well. I find myself captivated by the question, how did you perceive that it was false?"

"His scent." T'Pol said, warily. "It did not..."

"You misunderstand." The woman said, stepping forward now. "The question was rhetorical. I intend to have that answer from you at a later time, when I own you and you _must _answer."

T'Pol's hand wandered to her side, to make its way behind her, to the pistol in her waistband...

"Do not be foolish." V'Sher said. "I could disarm you and slay you several times before you could raise the weapon. I am not my pitiful son, to be so easily defeated."

T'Pol reached and grasped the handle anyway. Not drawing it to fire just yet, but not willing to avail herself of _nothing_.

"What do you think it will do?" V'Sher asked. "Perhaps you should draw the weapon and fire on me, if you require that matter to be established. Feel free to do so."

T'Pol...let go of the pistol grip. She was, of course, perfectly correct. It would accomplish little at all, assuming she could even manage to land a shot in the first place.

T'Pol's thoughts raced...perhaps Trip...

"He is in the alleyway, two blocks from here." V'Sher said. "The demon as well, with the spear. Two other intriguing points I intend to explore with you."

So, what did she...?

"I intend to appeal to logic." She said. "Submit to me now and I will spare the Human."

T'Pol stiffened. No, she would certainly not...

V'Sher was suddenly gone, barely a blur to the right suggesting she'd even moved.

Disappeared, almost instantly...

And...T'Pol realized her jacket had _fluttered _a little...

She reached, quickly. The phase pistol was gone. But that slight turn brought V'Sher back into view again. She was several meters away now, down the alley, casually dismantling the pistol. Tossing the pieces into the shadows at her feet.

V'Sher looked over at her as she did so, face perfectly blank. Until the weapon was completely dismantled and scattered...

She disappeared again, a vague blur of movement to the left...

She was _behind _her, practically speaking over her shoulder. T'Pol froze, not moving.

"You cannot stand against me, T'Pol." She said. "Certainly your Human cannot. You intrigue me. He does not."

The air shifted slightly...and V'Sher stood by the cargo bug again, almost blinking into existence there.

"I can have you both with a little effort." She said, reasonably. "Or I can have _you _with none at all. Embrace logic here, T'Pol. Here, where you have failed to in every prior case until now. Even if you _could _defeat me...at what cost? I would likely destroy half the city with my passing."

T'Pol stared, doing her best to think of nothing at all. Hoping some deeper, indiscernible level of her mind could come up with something...

"Doubtful." V'Sher said. "You were ready to die for your sins a moment ago, child of Vulcan. Nothing more is asked of you now. And to spare the Human you cherish? That is a noble death, is it not?"

"That would not be death." T'Pol said.

"An interesting metaphysical point of discussion, but entirely irrelevant. Your Human will return soon, so acknowledge logic quickly, T'Pol."

T'Pol considered the situation, no longer bothering to try to hide her thoughts. On some level...she already knew. They had underestimated this creature severely. She was alone, even Trip too far away to help.

There didn't seem to be anything she could do but fight hopelessly. As logical as that would be at any other time...after all, where there was life there, in fact, _was _hope...to fight now would risk Trip's life as well. Even acknowledging the creature's inherently untrustworthy nature...

But she couldn't come up with anything.

So she would fight. Risking Trip's life, perhaps, but he was a hunter just as she was. Whatever his protestations, he was a hunter. And she knew him quite well enough to know that is what he would want her to do here. He would be unforgiving of anything else...

V'Sher raised an eyebrow at her, sensing the decision she'd made. Disapproving and not the least concerned.

There was someone else in the alley with them, though.

T'Pol suddenly knew that, sensing it in some way she couldn't imagine. Something there, standing with her.

Whispering, in a way. Speaking softly in some manner.

Trust, it said. Only trust.

And, to her surprise, she did.

So she changed her mind. Freely allowing V'Sher to _see _that she'd changed her mind, however much trying to obscure that would have been impossible anyway.

T'Pol sank easily to her knees, sighing. On her knees in the alleyway before the _sirshos'im _elder. Shoulders slumped, already defeated.

V'Sher nodded.

"A logical decision, T'Pol." She observed. "Here at least, logic serves you well, however you have betrayed it until now. And we will be visiting that point many times in the coming years, you and I."

V'Sher held out her hand...a sickly green ball of light springing into being before T'Pol, where she knelt on her knees.

"Take it." She said, smirking openly now.

T'Pol reached out, hesitantly. But V'Sher needed to be distracted, she somehow knew, and this was the only thing that would fully absorb the hyper-awareness of such a powerful and elder _sirshos'im_. And how she failed to discern her thoughts on _that _matter, T'Pol could not even speculate.

Nor did she attempt to. She simply accepted it and reached out. Grasping the ball of green light in both hands...

_Not _accepting _that_. Grasping it and throwing all her defenses up. Resisting the moment she felt the _sirshos'im _brush her claws against her _katra_.

V'Sher grunted, frowning.

"Foolish girl." She said, teeth gritted already.

And V'Sher began to _pull_...

T'Pol grimaced immediately...her mouth falling open as the agony began to assail her...gasping as her _katra _began to slip away, losing her grip on herself far too easily...

Fighting, with all that she had...accomplishing nothing but to delay the inevitable for only a moment longer...

When V'Sher suddenly ceased, the ball of light blinking out of existence without warning.

T'Pol swayed back, gasping, clutching wildly at her chest for a moment, as if to secure the _katra _she was certain still threatened to leave her.

Looking up at V'Sher once she'd caught her breath...she herself looking down curiously at the arrow now piercing her chest.

V'Sher looked back at her, her eyebrow arced again. Then up further at the man stepping out of the shadows behind her somewhere.

"_That _is curious." V'Sher said. "That you are knowledgeable enough to hide your mind from me, yet ignorant enough not to know my heart is not there."

"Wasn't aiming for your heart." The man said.

And T'Pol knew that voice.

She spun around at the waist, reaching behind to steady herself.

Charles Tucker. There, with a crossbow of all things, smirking at the _sirshos'im_.

She didn't see, focused entirely on Charles, but the V'Sher reached for the arrow in her chest, examining it curiously for a moment, but Charles did not allow her time to pull it out.

He raised his free hand, speaking into the comm he held there.

"Go, Emory." He said.

And something whined behind her.

T'Pol looked back to see...V'Sher, bathed in blue light and sparks...and suddenly beginning to fade away...

V'Sher's eyes widened just before she disappeared, tensing to pull the arrow from her chest. Only now realizing the blinking red light at the base of the shaft might have indicated a threat of some sort...

"Too late." Charles smirked.

And V'Sher was gone.

The blue light fading, the whine ceasing abruptly.


	24. Between a Rock and Hard Place

The strange manner of V'Sher's disappearance, what implied fate she suffered as a result, how Charles came to be there and all the unanswered questions they had for him...

All of that was intriguing. All of that and more. Those things required answers.

But for the moment T'Pol could only stare, giving herself time to adjust. Time to accept that what her senses detected here was actually true.

Charles was standing there, only a few steps away. Looking back at her, with the barest hint of intimate familiarity in his eyes...

She swayed to her feet, staggering forward a couple of steps before the trauma of what she'd just suffered caught up with her. Her legs buckled and she stumbled...and Charles was there to catch her, to hold her up.

She grasped his arm, and then grasped him. Throwing her arms around him, sliding them around tightly in order to feel him in every way that she could. To be sure it was him and that he was truly there.

She held him tight, feeling the form she knew so well, the coolness of his presence against her, the scent of him causing her heart to ache that she'd forgotten it until now.

She nearly whimpered with relief, her face buried at his neck.

"Charles..." She whispered.

He grunted slightly before he answered.

"I'm here, darlin'." He said, almost groaning.

"Charles." She said again, more clearly now. Still holding him tightly to her. "You're alive."

"Yeah." He said, with a grunt. "Won't be for long, you keep bear-huggin' like that."

She eased her grip. A little. Enough at least, that she did no further harm.

But she held him still, tight against her, until the _need _to know that he was there had subsided enough, satisfied enough. It was him and he was there. She took in his scent enough that this was confirmed. His body cool and comforting, safe and familiar. Recognized and acknowledged.

And so she sighed, satisfied.

"Trip." Charles said. His tone of voice somewhat odd, if he intended to question her...but she answered regardless.

"He is here." She said, quietly. "He is well."

"Yeah," Charles said, humored. "I can see that."

T'Pol...stiffened, after a moment. Realizing only after that moment that he hadn't been asking anything. He'd been acknowledging...

Trip was there, she knew. Behind her, witnessing this moment.

T'Pol closed her eyes tight. And whatever strange presence she'd detected earlier, if she hadn't simply been insane in some way...whatever was there before, that had helped her here...in the depths of her mind, she cried out to it quietly. Not even knowing what she thought to communicate with that.

Because this was becoming a cruel joke.

An evil, oppressive, sadistic joke that the universe was playing on her. She even wondered if she'd died at some point and had not been aware of it. Perhaps she was in some form of hell, where all her shame and all her secrets would simply be revealed over and over and over again.

She released Charles carefully, stepping away from him to turn and look. Keeping one hand on his shoulder, at least. Only to reassure that irrational part of herself that insisted he would disappear again if she did not.

Trip was there, with Rachel. His face admirably blank, revealing nothing.

Enviable. She had to suppress her own emotional reaction to the situation rather harshly to accomplish as much herself.

T'Pol considered briefly, staring at Trip, while he looked back and forth between she and Charles...there was a knife in a sheath at her ankle. She could easily fetch it, slit Charles's throat and spend the next hour torturing Trip to death with it. Rachel likely would find that entertaining enough not to even intervene.

In point of fact, she was fairly sure that would even be the logical thing to do here, in a twisted sort of way. It was almost guaranteed that it would cause less harm to him than she had so far, all told. Certainly he would have less cause to despise her for that than for everything else.

T'Pol sighed again, not bothering to suppress it. If there was a limit to shame, she'd already reached it. What did it matter?

Trip finally spoke.

To Charles, not to her.

"Dad." He said, flatly.

She felt Charles nod back, beneath her hand, even through his shoulder.

"Son, how've you been?"

Trip stiffened noticeably at that, clearly suppressing a number of responses he didn't wish to express. And he didn't.

"Perfect timing." He said, casually. "We've got incoming. A pretty old _sirshos'im _about to pop up any minute..."

"We already took care of that, son." Charles said, nodding again.

Trip stared back for a second, before turning a critical eye on the alleyway around him.

"You sure?" He asked, doubtfully. "The place is still standing."

Charles snorted. "Well, she got herself mixed up with an iceberg about ten thousand kilometers from here, right down to molecules I think. Nobody around for a long enough ways..."

"How'd you manage that?" Trip argued, frowning.

"Well, that's kind of a long story..."

Charles' comm chirped before he could finish and he thumbed it quickly.

"Yeah?"

_"Charles, that last one...I don't know what we just did but it blew out the whole phase transition coil bank..."_

"Did it go through, doc?" Charles demanded, tense now.

_"It went through just fine, but we're down for a while. The whole place even exploded, just like you said, but...we'll be down, maybe for a few weeks. We got a lot more feedback on that than I accounted for. Some pretty strange feedback, actually."_

He grimaced, closing his eyes at that.

"Damn." He said.

_"Sorry, but we have been putting a lot of strain..."_

"No, that's fine, doc. You've done more than enough. Sorry if I broke your teleporter gizmo."

_"Matter transporter, Charles. It'll be fine, just need a few weeks. And don't feel bad. I think a little field testing is exactly what we needed right now. We've learned a lot we didn't know before. I should be thanking you."_

"No, I reckon we're square, Emory." Charles said, firmly. "Thanks, I do appreciate everything."

_"Well, just don't go and disappear on me again. You give me a call if you need me."_

"Will do. Thanks, doc."

Charles thumbed the comm off, pocketing it. Frowning a little, but...

"Who the hell was that?" Trip demanded.

Charles snorted, smiling.

"That's the long story I was talking about..."

Trip interrupted, speaking hard and cold now.

"Forget it, then. I think you've got another long story to tell, don't you?"

Charles tensed under her hand, finally forced to acknowledge and confront the fact that his son wasn't exactly overjoyed to see him again.

He turned to look at Rachel though, where she smirked widely back at him.

"Yeah, I reckon I do." He said. "I see _you _didn't waste any time."

T'Pol was finally forced to recognize something herself that she hadn't really. She still had her hand on Charles' shoulder, latched on there firmly. Realizing that only when she sought to take it away, to retrieve her PADD from her pocket.

She did, with surprising reluctance, to casually pull the PADD out and check it.

"Told you right where I'd be going next." Rachel grinned. "But you don't look happy to see me, Chuck. I think my feelings may be hurt a little."

"Well, if it helps, I'm glad to see you here." Charles smirked.

"Aw, now that's sweet." She said mocked. "But you know what happens now, right? I think I owe you a little something, after that stunt you pulled on the freeway."

Charles chuckled.

"Oh, that's nothing compared to what you just walked into."

Rachel just smirked back...for a split second, until she realized he'd actually meant something there. Her eyes flickered quickly and she looked down at her feet.

Then back up again, frowning.

"What are you talking about?" She demanded.

"You're standing in a devil's trap, dumbass." Charles said.

"The hell I am."

T'Pol tapped the final button on her PADD.

"You are now." She said, simply.

Rachel looked down again, frowning. Eyes suddenly widening, just a little...sensing something...

"What the hell is this?" She snapped. "What _is _that?"

Trip had already stepped away, easily enough that she hadn't noticed.

"Infrared laser holographic projection," He said. "Just a couple of millimeters above the concrete there."

Rachel's face twisted with fury and she stepped forward...

Or tried to. She didn't get quite that far.

She threw out a hand at Charles, _pushing_...

Nothing.

"What the hell _is this?!" _She screamed.

"One moment." T'Pol said, still working with the PADD. Then tapping the final button to finish what she was doing.

The ground around Rachel's feet lit up, a glowing red, laser light pentacle around her feet, already holding her in place before she even saw it. Part of it actually interspersing with the cardboard she stood on, yet still somehow complete despite that.

She whirled to snarl at Trip, knowing intuitively that _he _was responsible for this.

"You pig sucking bastard!" She hissed.

Trip grinned. And jerked a thumb casually skyward.

She jerked her attention there...and immediately recoiled.

"No!" She yelled, furiously.

Another red, laser light pentacle hovered over her head, less than half a meter away. An inwardly spiraling series of lines and glyphs, retreating into infinitely...

Into the pit itself, specifically.

"No! Let me _out of here!" _Rachel screamed, outraged.

"Go right ahead." Trip said, folding his arms at his chest. "Only one way out, though."

"You can't make me go there!" Rachel snarled.

"No, we can't. But we can leave you nowhere else to go."

"I won't go there!" She insisted.

"Good." Trip shrugged. "'Cause it's either that or start talking."

Rachel tensed suddenly, struggling to get hold of herself again, very obviously avoiding look up at the doorway to the pit that hovered over her.

Eventually squaring her shoulders again, fists balled tight, putting on a tough front.

"Well, I guess I'll just see you in hell then, Trip." She hissed.

"Yeah, sorry." He snorted. "Nondenominational Protestant. Have fun, though."

Rachel glared over at Charles.

"Catholic." He smirked. "Bite me."

T'Pol adjusted the controls on her PADD again, preparing for the next phase, before realizing everyone was looking at her.

She raised her eyebrow at them.

"I consider myself an enlightened agnostic." She said.

"Well then, l guess I'll see _you _there." Rachel smirked.

"Yeah, but I'm working on her, though." Trip offered.

Rachel laughed.

"You're pathetic, all of you." She smirked. "You're not the torture type, Trip. Who do you think you're kidding?"

"No, I'm not." He admitted, nodding. "Now, dad is, but he's probably pretty tired from everything he's been up to. There's T'Pol, though, and maybe you didn't notice but her _pon'farr's _comin' on, so she's sort of stuck between perfectly logical and violently frustrated."

T'Pol just stared back coldly when Rachel looked her way again. PADD raised just enough to draw attention to it, thumbing a button there once she _had _her attention.

The glowing red pentacle directly beneath her feet began floating up...

Up, past the soles of her feet, forcing Rachel to actually _raise _each foot, one after the other, involuntarily. Trying _not _to let the pentacle actually breach the borders of her body. Because that was completely and utterly impossible...

She gasped quickly, almost hyperventilating.

"You can't do that!" She insisted. "You can't! You're breaking the laws!"

"I don't know." Trip said, unconvinced. "Looks like it's working to me."

T'Pol let her thumb off the button on her PADD, with the pentacle now hovering at ankle height. Rachel still trying desperately to find some way to keep both feet off the ground and out of the pentacle's linear plane.

Not having any success at that at all.

"Infrared lasers." T'Pol offered. "This particular frequency allowing the plane of the pentacle to penetrate the host's form without injury."

Rachel startled around at them all, growling.

"See," Trip explained. "This is science. Fun stuff. The hypothesis we're testing out tonight is this...raising a insubstantial pentacle up through the host's body can force a demon out without even having to perform an exorcism. It kinda cuts to the chase, forcing you to obey those same fundamental laws that both the pentacle and the exorcism are based on..."

_"Let me out of this!" _Rachel screamed.

"Okay, no problem." Trip shrugged. And nodded at T'Pol.

She thumbed the button again, the pentacle began to rise and Rachel began to hyperventilate again. No longer high-stepping, trying to avoid the pentacle, but going rigid now. Hands drawn protectively to her waist, staring down with gritted teeth at the devil's trap floating right up her thighs.

T'Pol let off the button.

Rachel growled with frustration, lips twitching to snarl.

Trembling. The pentacle nearly at her waist now.

Charles chuckled, obviously enjoying the hell out of this, but he stepped forward, not wanting to miss the opportunity to actually be a part of it.

Hell, he'd helped develop the idea. He and Trip had worked on it for almost two years. Never got a chance to actually test it out, because T'Pol had run off with the cargo bug.

And he'd left it in the trunk.

"You've got two ways out of this." Charles said. "You can tell us what we want to know, then you smoke out of Rachel's body and leave her unharmed. We break the pentacle and you go on your way. Or...that pentacle keeps right on going up, until _you've _got nowhere to go but up."

Rachel's attention jerked to the pentacle over her head again. The one she'd been as desperately trying to avoid acknowledging as she'd been trying to avoid the one below.

"You can't make me go there." She growled.

"We get to the point where you're forced out, you won't have anywhere _else _to go."

"Go to hell!" She snarled. "Every damned one of you!"

"Yeah, you first." Charles said.

T'Pol didn't wait for anyone to give her the signal. She thumbed the button again, raising the pentacle to chest height, almost at her throat.

Rachel was breathing rapidly and shallow. Sweating, twitching. Head thrown back, trying desperately to avert her eyes from the glowing red doorway to the pit above her.

Wisps of smoke curling from her mouth, from her eyes and from her ears. The demon's insubstantial form, forced almost entirely to huddle up in Rachel's head and throat now.

"Last chance." Charles said. "We're not dumb enough to waste time with you. You don't talk now, you go to the pit. You still got a few inches there, if you want to talk. You can smoke out without getting pushed the rest of the way."

Rachel trembled, jaw clenched tight. Eyes wide and crazy.

_"I will burn every one of you...!"_

Again, T'Pol didn't wait. She thumbed the button, holding it down.

The pentacle rising again, up to Rachel's neck. To her chin and her ears, where her head was thrown back all the way now. Standing on her toes, stretching, trying to gain every fraction of an inch that she could.

She screamed finally, with impossible frustration...that scream turning into a gout of smoke that leapt from Rachel's head. Out and flowing in a tight spiral, already caught in the pentacle above.

Trip stepped to the side, reaching to catch Rachel as the last of the black smoke broke free. Catching and swinging her out of the pentacle, onto the ground nearby, where she lay limp and groaning.

The swirling gout of black smoke in the pentacle above...suddenly tightened and flowed along the glowing red lines of the pentacle itself, reversing and flowing back _against _the spiral.

Breaking out, diffused along the projected infrared beams themselves before finally flowing free into the air from there. Gathering instantly to dart away, high up over the nearest building and out into the night sky.

Trip almost dropped Rachel to the ground in surprise.

"Damn!" He exclaimed. "What the hell happened?"

* * *

Trip cradled Rachel in his arms, in the backseat of the bug. Wiping her forehead with a damp cloth, holding her secure while she got herself together.

It had been nearly a half hour already and they were on the move, leaving Las Vegas behind finally, just about to hit the city limits. Dad up front in the passenger seat, T'Pol driving. Rachel doing her best to remember how to talk again while Trip encouraged her to stop that and rest, for God's sake.

"There's time, Rachel." He said, quietly. "Just rest. You were stuck in there a long time. You need to recover..."

Rachel shook her head violently, grunting, teeth grit. Still trying to squeeze her eyes shut and _force _the words out.

Trip sighed and tossed the cloth aside for the moment, ready at hand for when she started sweating again from the insane effort she was putting herself through.

Charles was reviewing the data they'd gathered from the infrared pentacle. Not much helpful there and he was finally forced to just guess.

"Best I figure, she was right." He said, glaring down at the laptop in his lap. "We just don't have the authority to force a demon into the pit like that. Maybe with the right exorcism, but just not by brute force. We put her between a rock and a hard place and just pushed too hard."

"So we forced her through the pentacle, rather than into the pit." T'Pol said.

"Looks like." Charles said. "Damned if I thought I'd ever see _that _happen."

"Doesn't matter." Trip frowned, holding Rachel tight. "All we did was got it out of Rachel. We could have done that with an exorcism. The whole point was to do both at once, and quick. Push a demon out _and _back to hell."

"I guess we just can't do it like that." Charles frowned.

Trip sighed, disappointed. "Well, I'll keep working on it."

That got his attention, Charles turning to look back at him from the front seat.

"What, you're gonna work on that at Starfleet, son?" He challenged. "Between astrophysics and xeno-cultural studies?"

Trip glared right back.

"Probably don't want to push me right now, dad." He growled.

"What the hell are you even doing here, Trip?" He asked, sternly. "I thought I was real clear..."

"I'm here because T'Pol was worried about you." Trip snapped. "You think about that, you son of a bitch. She actually drove all the way to California to track me down and convince me to help find you. _Me_, dad. That's how much of a complete bastard you've been here..."

"You weren't supposed to be a part of this!" Charles snapped back. "I've been working pretty God-awful hard to keep you out of it, son!"

"Yes, you sure as hell have!" Trip exclaimed. "You abandoned T'Pol right when her time was coming on to run around and murder a few people! Damn, I'm real sorry I got in the way of all that!"

"I did what I had to do to...!"

Everyone lurked slightly, as the bug suddenly decelerated. Veering off quickly, to the side of the road.

Coming to an abrupt enough stop there that the inertial dampeners actually keyed up, if not quite kicking in.

Everyone glared at T'Pol.

She glared out the front windshield, down the highway. Sitting tense, back rigid, brow tight.

"I am in a difficult position." She said, her jaw clenched. "And I am dangerously close to losing my temper."

The universe paused for a moment at that pronouncement.

Then Charles broke the silence.

"T'Pol..." He said.

Her fist arched up quickly, _slamming _down into the dashboard.

It broke, caved in, destroyed. Bits of plastic flying, various things in there sparking alarmingly, a nice new hole where there hadn't been one before.

T'Pol replaced that fist carefully back into her lap again.

"Dangerously close." She reiterated, tightly.

The universe paused again, both alarmed at T'Pol and disapproving of Charles now.

Silence and tension reigned together for a while. Even Rachel was still.

"Neither of you understand the position I am in." T'Pol said, evenly. "That is unfortunate, but the fact remains that _this _cannot happen in my presence. I have very little patience with the two of you at the moment. Do not test the limits of that."

Silence again.

"T'Pol..." Charles said, quietly. Carefully and soothingly. "What's going on with you?"

Trip closed his eyes, wincing. Waiting for the inevitable outburst. The very violent one that was probably going to end up with someone in the hospital.

It didn't happen, amazingly, and he opened his eyes to see T'Pol gripping the steering wheel of the bug tightly enough that her knuckles were actually white. He was fairly certain that wasn't technically possible for Vulcans.

Trip decided the odds of someone getting hurt here were slightly less if _he _said something now, rather than waiting for dad to stumble blindly through the minefield he was standing in the middle of.

"Dad," He said, carefully. "T'Pol's time is coming. Coming soon. Maybe seeing the two most important men in her life arguing and fighting right in front of her is doing some funky things to her head right now. A little pseudo-_kal'i'fee _inside a cargo bug...maybe not the best thing for her. Let's have our little talk later, alright?"

Charles thought that over, while T'Pol fumed in the driver's seat, looking at no one. Hands clenched on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead.

Then she simply reached and turned the key on the bug, pulling back onto the highway and on the move again. Driving with near palpable intensity, but apparently somewhat in control again.

Charles thought it over, up there in the front seat.

"So you two are together now?" He asked. "When did _that _happen?"

T'Pol stopped the bug again. This time the inertial dampeners _did _kick in.


	25. Everything You Ever Wanted

Hurt people or break things. T'Pol's fury, on the extremely rare occasion that it presented itself for display, typically ran to one of those two things.

Everyone who knew her knew that. Which would really only be two people on the planet at the moment, who knew her that well. Both of them were in the cargo bug with her when she lost her temper.

Amazingly, though, she didn't do either of those things. She did throw the driver's side door open hard enough that she _almost _accomplished breaking something, but not quite.

Everyone in the bug watched T'Pol stalk around the front of the vehicle, over to the far side, waiting all the while for the inevitable matter/anti-matter explosion to occur. She simply snatched that door open when she got there instead, grabbing Charles by the arm and _yanking _him out of the bug...

Trip had his own door open, practically leaping from the vehicle himself. Whatever could be said about his relationship with his father...he _was _his father, and T'Pol beating the old bastard to death on the side of the highway was something he figured he'd ought to do something about.

T'Pol stopped at that, jerking her attention fiercely to Trip, while Charles scrambled to get his feet under him. Thrusting a finger straight out at him so hard that he almost imagined he felt it in his chest.

"You." T'Pol said, tightly, eyes blazing. "Stay with Rachel."

She was turned away, dragging Charles behind her, before he could even blink at that.

It took him a second to muster the courage...

"T'Pol...!" He called, warningly.

_"_You _stay!" _She snapped, over her shoulder.

Trip stayed.

And really, what else was he gonna do? Go over there and stop her from...whatever she was going to do? Yeah, that'd go real well.

So...maybe she wouldn't hurt the old man too bad. And he kinda had it comin' anyway.

* * *

T'Pol dragged him far enough into the desert that he finally started protesting. Far enough that the discussion wouldn't be overheard by anyone else.

Then she stopped, slinging her arm on ahead of her to send Charles stumbling forward across the sand. Glaring at him while he staggered, until he stood up straight again. And she kept glaring, until he got the message and refrained from speaking.

He did glower, but was wise enough to turn that out over the desert so as not to provoke her further. And that was sufficient.

She turned away herself, already a little dismayed at the..._rictus _of emotion disfiguring her face. She breathed deeply, gathering some modicum of control. Some small measure of _discipline_, if calm and peace were so impossible.

She closed her eyes, bringing the one fist into her other hand. Gripping it tightly, _forcing _control.

"T'Pol."

He could not possibly be so foolish as to speak to her now...

So she decided that hadn't happened. He hadn't spoken. He was standing there, quietly, saying nothing. Waiting for her to speak her mind, prepared to listen and understand...

"T'Pol, if you've got something to say..."

Her eyes snapped open and she glared at him again, lip twitching in spite of herself.

He stopped speaking at least. So she turned to face him squarely.

"I'm not a child any longer." She said, bitterly.

He had the audacity to _snort _lightly at that.

"Yeah, I guess you're not." He said, massaging his arm.

"You are very disappointed, I'm sure." T'Pol said, coldly.

_That _got his attention. His eyes narrowed.

"Well, that's not a very nice thing to say, is it?" He said, turning to face her now. "Never mind how you're six years _older _than I am, you really want to start throwing blame around here? Alright, I'm game. Let's do that."

T'Pol's eyes widened. That was a _challenge_.

She stalked forward, fists balled tight. Her eyes wild.

"You have no idea what my instincts demand of me now." She snarled. "There are several different ways I could resolve this situation as a Vulcan. All of them involve violence and death."

"You're not gonna kill me." Charles sneered, without any hesitation. "You're sure not gonna kill Trip. So, what then? You want me and my son to break out the Bowie knives at dawn? Cut each other up over yah? Well, you can just step right off, T'Pol. That ain't gonna happen."

"Or I could simply kill both of you myself." She said, tightly.

"And then go kill your own self after that." Charles said. "Yeah, I read a book or two. _Fam'soaki_...

"_Fam'so'kirah_." T'Pol snapped.

"Whatever. Very Vulcan. I bet you could explain the logic and everything."

"No." She sneered. "_You _could not understand it."

"Well, I'm real heartbroke."

She was too angry to stand still, so she paced, glaring fiercely at him.

Consequently, circling him. Which was perfect.

"So how do _Humans _resolve these situations?" She sneered. "Shall we hire a therapist? _Talk _about it?"

"We don't get in this kinda situation all that often."

"There was a time that would have surprised me to hear." She bit back. "I was taught that Humans were like animals in regards to such things. I would rather that I'd understood the truth _then_. Much of this would have been avoided..."

Charles clenched his jaw.

"Right," He said. "You just didn't know what you were doing, did you?"

That stopped her in her tracks, her eyes just a little wilder and crazier now.

"You _knew _that I didn't understand." She accused. "You said nothing. _Did _nothing. Other than take _advantage_."

"I remember holding out for a while there, T'Pol. You were pretty damned persuasive, though."

Her eyes fluttered for a moment, wrestling with shame. Her anger began to subside as a result, and that...she would rather that didn't happen, to be honest.

"I reckon you've got the same in mind for Trip, right? If you two aren't already shacked up..."

And that struck home as well.

"No." She said, firmly. "At one time, yes, before I understood, but no longer. Now..."

She paused, steeling herself a bit.

"Now I only wanted to heal this family. But I have come to see that it is a family no longer. This cannot be fixed."

"No, reckon it can't." He said.

T'Pol just stared at him. But he said nothing more and her anger was leaving her now. She couldn't even glare comfortably any longer.

So she turned away, taking a deep breath. Letting the self-control she surprisingly didn't even want at the moment return of its own accord.

Truthfully, she would have rather been violent here. Resolved this matter in that fashion, with at least the excuse of these first vestiges of blood fever to fall back on.

That was ironic.

After devoting her entire life to her disciplines, now when she would prefer to be rid of them, to react _emotionally_...of course they refused to allow it. Even now, with her fever coming upon her.

Ironic, and morbidly humorous as well. Had this situation presented itself perhaps no more than a week from now, she would likely have simply murdered everyone.

Problem solved.

But if logic insisted upon itself, then so be it.

She took a deep breath, still turned away, not facing him.

"I still love Charles Tucker." She said. "Unfortunate and misguided, but nonetheless. I love him for what he represents. For all that he has done for me, what he has meant to me and what we have shared. But as for _you_...you were never who I thought you were. Knowing you now, as I have come to know you over the last few years, I find I don't even care for you."

She took another breath, holding it...releasing it.

"I've done my duty to you enough here." She said. "I owe you nothing more. We will protect Trip, discover what these demons plan and stop it. Then we will go our separate ways. I don't ever want to see you again after this."

Charles snorted behind her. "If it makes you happy, blaming me, go right ahead. I guess it's just all my fault."

"No, we are both responsible. If it eases your offense, then know that I despise myself as much as I despise you."

"And what about Trip?"

T'Pol sighed.

"I hoped I would be able at least to salvage something of that relationship. Now I believe even that may be lost. If I must be alone, then so be it."

Charles was quiet for a moment.

"Maybe that's for the best." He said.

T'Pol turned around at that, to face him again.

"I didn't ask for your opinion," She said, flatly. "Nor do I value it."

He only smirked back at her. "You know, I'm starting to remember why we split up."

"Good." She said.

Charles still smirked and that tempted her to anger again. But she didn't bother, it was largely pointless.

He sighed then suddenly. An overly dramatic, long-suffering sigh.

"The demon's name is Jahi." He said, frowning. "That's who's behind this. I've got her trapped in a salt mine down in Florida."

T'Pol stared for a moment...

...until what he'd just said finally sank in.

"What...?" She stuttered. "Why did you not say this before?"

"Doesn't matter, it's already over."

T'Pol blinked again.

"What do you mean?" She asked. "_What _is over?"

"Today was the day." He shrugged. "Some big ritual. They wanted to open a door to the pit."

"That's...not possible." T'Pol frowned. "What are you talking about, Charles?"

"It apparently _is _possible." He said, shrugging. "Any minute now Vulcan, Andoria and Tellar will line up perfectly. One sacrifice each, somebody picked out from a group on each world, just like the one I took out here. A triangle of individual, sentient species. Then one more here, a Human, on Earth, which just happens to be the focal point. That's it. The pit would have opened up right here."

T'Pol stared, already overwhelmed.

Charles just shrugged.

"Charles...the worst of the demons are consigned there." She said, uncertainly. "Those so depraved and destructive that early confinement actually proved necessary..."

"Right." He said. "Jahi wanted to turn Earth into a big playground. Risa for demons. Open up the pit and throw a big party for the whole galaxy."

_"_But_...why?"_

"Because she's a fun lovin' gal, I guess."

T'Pol's eyes flickered, thinking that through rapidly. Allowing her mind to make all the connections, identify all the relevant points...

"No." She decided. "The angels would never allow that. They would react in force."

"I haven't seen them doing much about it so far, T'Pol." Charles argued.

"Hence your own actions." She accused then. "You are out of control, Charles. You have murdered innocents..."

"Innocent my ass." He argued. "Every one of them was already drunk on demon blood. They already sold themselves out. I'm just trying to keep Trip out of it."

"Yes, I'm sure he appreciates what you've done."

"He can hate me if he wants. I don't care."

"You care about very little."

"I care about Trip." Charles insisted. "And I care about you, too. Whether you believe it or not."

"In your own way, I suppose you do." She conceded. "But that is insufficient, Charles. We will not participate in your plan and we will not turn our backs on demons. Show us to your salt mine and we will deal with Jahi directly."

"No, what you're gonna do is take Trip back to that Starfleet school." Charles insisted. "I'll drop Rachel off with Dusty and you get yourself to Austin. Jahi's got about..."

He fished his PADD out of his pocket, checking it with a glance.

"...twenty minutes to get out of two devil's traps and a salt mine, get to Trip or Bobby, get 'em drunk on demon blood and trick 'em into blasting a door to the pit. I got a feeling she's not gonna make it. The rituals have already started everywhere else but here. This is _over_, T'Pol."

T'Pol just cocked her eyebrow at him.

"Charles," She observed, patiently. "You seem to be under the impression you still have some authority here. As I've said, I am a child no longer. Trip likewise. You will show us to the salt mine and Jahi, and we will use your blade, the _thresh-rasahk, _to consign her to the pit, to be absolutely certain. She may still seek revenge against you. That puts Trip at risk."

"No." He said, simply. And firmly.

T'Pol stared for a moment, surprised.

"You _will_, Charles." She insisted.

"Or what?"

"This must be ended," She said. "For Trip's sake at the least."

"It's _already _over."

"Jahi is still out there. And we are to trust _you _with that? The judgment you've displayed so far has been lacking, to say the least."

"I've accomplished a hell of lot more than _you _have in the last two days."

"Charles..."

"It's already done. Why else do you think I'm standing here?"

"Then take us to her."

"T'Pol, dammit, no. The whole point was to keep you both out of this."

"And if I insist?"

"Insist all you like, ain't gonna happen. In fact, all you're doing is holding me up, T'Pol. I've got to get back to Florida and with Erickson's teleporter thing on the fritz, that's gonna take half a day already. _I'll _take care of Jahi."

"Then you require a vehicle." T'Pol said, turning to point at the cargo bug. "I have a one available, right there..."

"Dammit, T'Pol!" Charles suddenly yelled. "I'm giving you a way out! _Take it!"_

T'Pol blinked at the unexpected outburst.

And saw that Charles was unusually emotional suddenly.

"For _Trip's sake_," He pleaded then. "_Take it_. Get out of this. Get _him _out of this."

T'Pol could only stare, unsure how to react now.

"T'Pol...why do you think half of these people were hunters?" He asked, desperately. "Because of what happened to them. Just like you and me. Wasting our lives trying to find some kind of revenge. Some kind of _justice_. We ain't ever gonna have that. There's no such thing."

T'Pol hesitated...

"Charles...I..."

"Darlin', this is the best I could do. I'm sorry. I've _killed _to give you this chance. You and Trip. So you can be free of this."

T'Pol closed her eyes painfully at that.

And she sighed.

"Charles...how can not know me any better than that?" She asked, sadly. "I don't _want _to be free of this. I have nothing else now. I cannot go home, I can never be mated, my family is lost. This is all that I have..."

"Then for Trip's sake." Charles pressed. "You're all _he _has. Get him out of this and get clear of it yourself, for him."

T'Pol shook her head, sadly.

"That relationship is lost..."

"No it isn't. Don't be so Human."

_That _got him a funny look.

"You're Vulcan, he's Human." Charles said. "Give him a few years, he'll get over it. Hell, he already _is _over it. You've got plenty of time and you've said it yourself, Humans are...'remarkably adaptable'."

T'Pol scowled at that. "I have already said I have no intention of mating him..."

"But you can still have him in your life. And I'd sure as hell rather he had you to rely on. Who the hell else?"

T'Pol...could find no argument to that...

But, still...

"And why _not _hook up with him?" Charles pointed out. "You'd have a hard time finding a better match."

She startled, staring in surprise. That he'd _said _that.

"Settle down and get out of this life, T'Pol." Charles said, confidently. "You said you had nothing else...but you _could _have. Just give it time. You're Vulcan, you've got _plenty _of time. I'm offering you everything you've ever wanted and never thought you could have. You can _have _it."

T'Pol struggled, eyes wandered wildly, trying to...argue...to find the logic...

"And I'm not just _asking _you to do this, T'Pol." He said, more firmly now. "I'm not giving you any other choice. Get him out of this. I'll get Rachel to Dusty, he's on the way. Jahi will be in the pit by midnight tonight, I promise you."

T'Pol stared at the ground, not meeting his eyes.

"Darlin', please. Do it for Trip..."

"Very well." She said, quietly. "I will."

* * *

They let Charles out at the rental agency and stuck around long enough for him to pick out something reliable.

T'Pol paid for it, of course.

Trip was on hand to toss him his bag when he pulled up and got out, Rachel standing by to glare at him.

Charles looked back at Rachel, frowning.

"You ready?" He asked, gruffly.

She just glared.

"What?" He frowned.

"B-b-b-_bobby_." Rachel stuttered out, angrily.

Charles just frowned at that for a moment. Then looked over at T'Pol.

"Well, this is gonna be a fun trip." He grumped.

Trip didn't wait any longer, stepping forward to pick up the bag he'd tossed over just a moment ago. Walking over to throw it in the trunk himself, since dad was taking so long. Slamming the trunk shut before walking back over to the bug.

Rachel walked over angrily to do some slamming of her own. Snatching the passenger side door open, flouncing into the seat and slamming the door shut again.

Charles frowned.

"Yeah," He grumbled. "Fun trip."

He looked back at Trip and T'Pol. At T'Pol first, where she simply looked on passively, as if nothing were occurring here of any interest to her at all.

Then to Trip, where he at least had the decency to glower a bit.

"No girly moments, I guess." Charles said. "That's good. You two take care."

He turned away.

And Trip suddenly huffed a little, relenting.

"Dad..."

"Alright, look." Charles said, turning back. "How about I drop by for a beer sometime and you can tell me all about what a bastard I am then?"

Trip chuckled almost immediately, obviously not meaning to.

"Fine." He grinned. "Let's do that."

Charles nodded.

"But..." Trip said, uncomfortably. "Dad, just...be careful."

Charles smirked at that.

"Hell, that don't sound like no kinda fun."

And he winked, turning back to the rental car. Climbing in, starting it up and backing out of the lot with nothing more than that.

Trip watched him drive away, arms folded at his chest. Until it could accurately be said that he was gone.

"Okay, so how are we gonna get there before he does?" He asked. "Tell me you know where this salt mine is, at least."

T'Pol was quiet, not answering. Until he looked over at her, curiously.

"We are not going." She said, quietly.

Trip dropped his arms at that, because that was pretty much the opposite of anything he might have expected she'd say right then.

"What do you mean we're not going?" He demanded. "Of course we're going. We can't let him..."

"No." T'Pol said, resolutely. "We are not going. You are returning to STC. I am going on to Austin."

Trip stared, shocked.

"T'Pol..."

"Your semester finals begin tomorrow, Trip." She said, firmly. "And I am...already having difficulty."

Trip stared still, a little rocked by that.

Then turned to look back at the road, where his father had gone on without him.

"Well, God." He sighed. "I..."

"There is nothing more for us to do, Trip." T'Pol said. "We have done our part here."

Trip ran his fingers through is hair, trying to absorb that. And he swallowed.

"I can't believe...are we just going to let him go? We went through a lot of trouble to _find _him, T'Pol."

"It is the logical thing to do." She said. "We found him."

"Yeah, I...I know. I guess...I just wasn't ready to..."

"Trip, come on." She said, placing her hand on his shoulder. "We have matters of our own to see to. Your father can take it from here."

She stepped away, toward the cargo bug, watching him until she saw that he would follow.

And she took her time, departing in a leisurely manner, to give him space to adjust. To accept that he was done here and for the realization to occur to him that the time had come to leave this life behind him again. To remember that is what he desired to do, having forgotten that in the chaos of the last two days.

They were crossing the Nevada border before he lost the slightly glazed look in his eyes. Accepting at last that it truly was over, at least for them. Adjusting, finding his comfort again with that. Smiling over at her slightly to let her know this, whether or not he realized that he did so.

She looked back at him then...and she took his hand for moment, across the front seat of the bug.

A starkly intimate gesture of affection, yes. But he allowed it and accepted it for a moment, and that was good.

She drove on then, leaving him to his thought. Leaving him to remember he was not a hunter any longer. That he was Starfleet cadet and that semester finals awaited him. Finals he'd spent the entire weekend doing something entirely removed from anything like studying for.

She drove and she allowed time to begin to pass unhindered.

Because it would take time and that she would simply have to endure. She was Vulcan, and so no stranger to that. A small price to pay for whatever she might yet salvage from the only relationship she had left in the universe. The only love she could still lay claim to.

* * *

Rachel was stiff and angry in the passenger's seat, from the moment they left the rental agency until now, several dozen kilometers down the highway, heading east.

Charles ignored her at first, but it had gotten pretty boring a long way back. So he began to sing quietly to himself.

_"Busted flat in Baton Rouge," _He sang. _"Waitin' for a train. And I's feeling nearly as faded as my jeans."_

He smiled over at Rachel, where she already glared at him.

_"Bobby thumbed a diesel down just before it rained. It rode us all the way to New Orleans."_

Charles grinned outright now, and Rachel glared all the more, jaw tense.

And he sang a little louder, just to piss her off.

_"I pulled my harpoon out of my dirty red bandanna. I was playing soft while Bobby sang the blues."_

"Sh-sh-shut up." Rachel seethed.

_"Windshield wipers slapping time," _Charles continued, happily. _"I was holding Bobby's hand in mine. We sang every song that driver knew."_

Rachel hauled back and _slammed _her foot against the dashboard, glaring burning, bloody daggers at him across the front seat.

Teeth bared, breathing heavy. _Furious_.

Charles chuckled at that.

And he pulled the car off the road, coming to a stop.

Smiling, once they'd come to rest. And then sighing not at all sincerely.

"Well," He said, smirked. "If you figure you can s-s-stutter a word or two now, let's go ahead and have this out."

Rachel glared murderously back at him.

And flipped him the bird, middle finger presented rather aggressively about half a meter from his face.

"Sign language," Charles noted, appreciatively. "Well, that's a start."

"L-l-l-lies." Rachel struggled out, huffing. "T-t-trip."

Charles nodded.

"Yeah," He said. "I lied to the boy. It's kinda my thing."

And he blinked.

Eyes suddenly as black as night. As black as the deepest depths of cold space.

And he smirked at her when her eyes flew wide at that.

Rachel was quick. She'd been a hunter for some years now and the value of reacting instantly to a situation like that had been driven home many times already. But she was unarmed. She had nothing at all to fight with.

So she ran. The very split second she realized all of that.

She barely got the door open with one foot out before he had her by the hair, and he jerked her back harshly, her head falling almost in his lap, legs flung out of the door.

Knife at her throat, so that she froze immediately. Staring up at the cold, black eyes grinning down at her.

"Sorry, darlin'." Charles said. "But you know too much. Can't have to _t-t-talking _to the kids, can we?"

Rachel was screwed. She knew that perfectly well.

So she went ahead and started fighting, knife at her throat or not.

Charles simply swung over with his free hand, punching her in the stomach. Knocking the breath out of her and leaving her to heave with the effort to breath again.

"Now, I know you've been through a lot, little girl, so I'll make this quick." Charles smirked.

Then cocked his head a little, rethinking that.

"But, then again," He grinned. "What's the fun in that?"

He began to cut, while Rachel gave everything she had to screaming and fighting. Accomplishing little of either.

And Charles picked up where he'd left off.

_"Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose." _He sang. _"Nothing don't mean nothing honey if it ain't free, now now."_

Outside the car, Rachel somehow found enough leverage to kick the passenger window enough to crack it...but Charles ignored that. He could drive with that window down.

_"And feeling good was easy, Lawd, when he sang the blues..."_

Rachel's hand managed one good grip on the knife hand, but Charles simply broke it at the wrist with one hard strike. And took the opportunity to slash at the tendons of the other arm, so she wouldn't bother him with that one for a while either.

_"You know feeling good was good enough for me..."_

There wasn't much Rachel could do after that. She tried, of course, because there was in fact nothing left to lose.

_"Good enough for me and my Bobby McGee."_


	26. High From the Highest Tree

Charles knew about a sort of unofficial hunter safehouse set up right outside Vegas, so that's where she went. It'd be the perfect place for him to do his part. Out of the way, secluded, no chance of anyone happening by to wonder at the strange goings on.

She pulled up and got out of the car, already singing just the perfect little song for the occasion. One she was sure her host would thoroughly enjoy.

She danced just a little as she approached the door to the old shack.

Just had to.

_"Boida-bip-bip-bip-bip-bububa-bow-bow-bowm_." She sang, scat-style and playfully, swinging her arms, with just a little skip along the way.

She whistled the rest of that because...whatever, didn't remember it exactly. Who cares?

She swung the door wide, sweeping herself grandly into the dark shack.

_"Weeell," _She sang, dragging out the first note irreverently. _"Here I sit high, gettin' ideas. Ain't nothin' but a fool would live like this."_

A graceful little spin through the doorway, slamming the old wooden door behind her in the process.

_"Out all night and runnin' wild..."_

Dramatic pause, arms thrown out to the sides...

_"Woman's sittin' home with a month old child!"_

Resuming the spin, keeping it playful.

_"Dang me! Dang me!" _She sang, dancing Charles' body across the room. "_They oughta take a rope and hang me...oh, high from the highest treeeee...!"_

Stomp, stomp, stomp!

_"Woman, would you weep for me? Bip-bip-bip-bip-budooba-bow-bow-bowm!"_

Thumbs tucked in Charles' belt now, practically tap-dancing his body into the moonlit bathroom, with one more spin thrown in there just to mix things up.

_"One more time!" _She said, sliding into a boot-sliding swagger. _"Bip-bip-bip-bip-budooba-bow-bow-bowm!"_

Charles was there in the mirror, staggering forward rather than dancing as she was.

Why, he looked like he was feeling a little sick, maybe. Poor fellah.

And he was as drenched in blood as she was, head to toe, which was delightfully...symbolic...or whatever.

She slapped her hands to the sides of the sink, leaning over it to thrust her face at the man in the mirror.

"Roger Miller, Chuck!" She said, gleefully. "I know you love him!"

Chuck stared back at her from the mirror, like he couldn't decide whether to be furious or just go ahead and vomit all over the place.

What a downer!

"_Just sittin' 'round drinkin' with the rest of the guys!" _She sang. _"_Come on_, _sing along, Chuckie!"

She teased him with a little 'come here' finger as she spun away again, forcing his sickly afterimage in the mirror to do the same.

"_Six rounds bought and I bought five."_

"Why did you do that?!"

_"I spent the groceries and a half the rent_," She sang, spinning around.

Ignoring him.

_"I lack fourteen dollars havin' twenty seven cents..."_

"Get out! Get the hell out of me!"

_"Dang me! Dang me!" _She sang, all the louder now. _"They oughta take a rope and hang me! High from the highest treeee...!"_

She finished the last spin, landing with both hands on the sink again, face thrust toward the mirror again.

_"Oh, Chuckie, would you weep for me? Bip-bip-bip..."_

She froze suddenly, lips still pressed together for the last 'bip'.

Frozen in place...then turning her head slightly to the side, eyes still on Charle's image in the mirror, lips still stuck together.

Before letting it go with a subtle 'pop'.

"_You _are not having _fun_, are you Chuckie?" She accused, eyes narrowed.

"Why did you do that?" He demanded, hands on the sink over there in mirrorland, face thrust out toward her, just as she was.

Jahi snorted, smirking.

"She had to die, stupid." She said. "Did you really want her at your old pal, Dusty's? Spilling her g-g-g-guts? To _him? _So I spilled _her _guts a little. Big deal."

Charles was very obviously working hard not to puke. Which was hilarious. _She _wasn't about to puke.

Although she was suddenly curious what exactly would happen if he did. She already know, of course, she'd been there many times before. But _Chuck _didn't know that and she was curious what his reaction would be to vomiting without actually vomiting.

It'd probably be pretty funny, the look on his face.

"She didn't have to die like that." He seethed, through his sick little gritted teeth. "You could have made it quick..."

"Sure." Jahi shrugged. "Or I could have done it the _not _horribly boring way. When are you going to stop being such a little titty-momma pansy, Chuckie boy?"

"That wasn't the deal!" He insisted. "That wasn't..."

_"Hey!" _She yelled. Eye flashing green now, teeth bare.

Smacking the side of the wall open-handed suddenly, right next to the mirror. Leaning in close...

Until she had his attention.

"You're _boring _me." She warned, lowly.

Chuckie actually swallowed a little nervously in there.

She snorted at that, just a little. What a puss.

"We've got a deal." Jahi said, still growling. "You do your part, I'll do mine. _Do not _start thinking you can fill in the blanks here, Chuck. That's _my _territory."

She pushed off from the sink and the wall.

"You want me gone? Fine." She said. "I'm off to pick up little Bobby. You get to work on the guest of honor while I'm gone. And you _better _have her locked up tight when I get back, Chuck. This is _not _a deal you want to renege on."

Charles stared back at her from the mirror. A little scared, a little angry...and just a little crazy.

Jahi grinned at that.

"Do your part, Chuckie, and you've got three days. Three days to get your lovely little family out of my way...then it's party time."

She threw Charles' head back and broke free, making sure to leave just as violently as she could.

Because he was cute and all, but he really started _grating _on her after a while.

She curled up against the ceiling, a long, thick snake of black smoke. Looking down for a second, not wanting to miss the delicious moment where the terrible Charles Tucker fell to the floor, whimpering like a baby.

She'd have laughed if she could, but she left instead. Flowing swift and hot through the broad cracks of the front door, out into the night air.

Flowing high and turning sharp to race the wind.

Not east, to Florida and salt mines and Bobby Palmer. Deal or not, that would have to wait just a bit longer.

She darted to the west instead, flashing across the tops of the trees and swiftly on into the night. Long gone before Charles could even stop shaking in his raggedly old cowboy boots.

* * *

They made Barstow, California in two hours, stopping there to get a hotel room for a while. Not to sleep, but so that T'Pol could at least meditate for an hour or two, being well overdue for that already.

Under the circumstances, not a great situation. So Trip had insisted, and he had logic on his side in doing so.

It didn't matter anyway, as they wouldn't reach Sausalito before morning. Whether they got there at 0200 or 0400, it'd amount to pretty much the same utter lack of sleep required before daring to shuffle up to the board and start testing.

They put down salt and iron dust both, just to be sure. And Trip stood guard, armed to the teeth with one of everything from the trunk, again just to be sure.

They were just coming off a hunt, after all. Paranoia would be appropriate for a day or two more at least.

T'Pol meditated over there on the bed, while he sat with a laptop in his lap, her particle rifle propped up beside him and a backpack leaning against the chair down on the floor.

He honestly started trying to study just a bit, hoping maybe he'd hit on a half dozen things he'd forgotten or just plain needed to refresh himself on. Maybe avoid just a few wrong answers or dumb mistakes tomorrow. Maybe even just enough to actually _pass _something.

He ended up stuck on stellar cartography, though.

So when T'Pol took a deep, cleansing breath to come back from whatever ethereal plane she'd been lounging around in, he had some interesting things to report.

"Hey." He said, as she opened her eyes to look over at him serenely.

"Hey." She whispered.

Trip grinned. "You know, that's got to be one of my most favorite things."

"What is?" She asked, with only the mildest hint of curiosity.

"You, right when you finish meditating. It's really something."

T'Pol considered that for short moment.

"I assume that is complimentary." She said.

"Well, _I _think so anyway." Trip shrugged. "Guess what I found out while you were gone."

"Tell me instead." She said, eyes already sparking with interest. And so, somewhat sadly, losing the peaceful aura of perfect serenity she'd so briefly possessed.

"That interstellar planetary alignment thing dad was talking about." He said. "Played around on the net and finally figured it out. Had to do some _really _creative math to get it, but I've got it."

"It is occurring, as predicted?"

"Nope." Trip said, simply.

T'Pol paused.

"You're father specified..."

"Yeah, I guess he wasn't being what you'd call 'honest'." Trip frowned. "Doesn't happen for another couple days. And it's an 'alignment' of any kind whatsoever only by the broadest and most liberally metaphysical sense of the term, though maybe that doesn't really matter. We're talking about magic and infernal laws and all that stuff after all."

T'Pol considered that.

"He lied." She said. "Obviously to put us at ease. To convince us the matter was already practically put to rest, so that we would abandon..."

"Or he was just being his same old self." Trip frowned. "Wanting something, us out of the way in this case, and not giving a damn how that happened."

"Regardless," T'Pol said. "The matter is practically put to rest already. When exactly the alignment is to occur is irrelevant, if Jahi is in the pit and unable to make use of it."

"We need to go make _sure _of that, T'Pol." Trip said.

"No, we do not. Your father is quite capable of accomplishing that, if she is already trapped."

"Okay. I agree, no problem. But we need to go _make sure _of that."

"Trip, she is trapped inside two pentacles, deep within a salt mine. She is powerless and unable even to defend herself. Your father need only take the minimal effort of piercing her heart with the blade. I'm sure it will be quite anticlimactic after driving for two days across country to do so."

Trip took a breath and sighed deeply.

"T'Pol," He said. "What if that _doesn't _happen?"

"Then we have a further day or two to respond," She said. "Which is only half of what we have now. We will hear from your father in two days, one way or the other. If necessary, we will be free to act then."

"So we just go on ahead, pretending everything's going to be fine. Just in case, by some miracle, contrary to everything else in our lives so far, it actually _does _turn out fine."

"Yes."

He argued right away.

"_T'Pol_, that's..."

"That is what normal people do." She said.

Trip stopped, staring at her.

"Normal people do not rush to intervene when demons threaten." She said. "They largely do not believe such things even exist. They go about normal lives, leaving those things to others. We are leaving this to your father."

"Well, normal people are pretty stupid then."

"That is what you have been doing for the last few years, Trip, up until two days ago." She reminded him. "That is what you will return to doing. That is what I am taking you to do."

He frowned, struggling with that.

"Trip, you will return to the Starfleet Training Center." She said, decisively. "You will take your final exams for the semester and you will do well. You will resolve outstanding issues with Tali, meet with your friends for hoagies at Carmello's and drink too much beer. And then you will become a Captain and assume command of a starship. That is what you will do. That is what I want for you."

Trip sighed, just a little frustrated.

"I really want that, T'Pol. I do. But how can I do that without knowing _this _has been dealt with first?"

"Because I need you to do that." She said. "You will do that for me, because I require it of you."

His shoulders slumped a little at that, and she suppressed some measure of guilt for it. An obvious indication that he felt oppressed. That she was being...manipulative.

But it was necessary. So she steeled herself and persevered.

"Trip, please..."

"Alright." He said, throwing up his hands slightly. "Okay. You don't have to beat me up."

"I do not enjoy doing so."

"Well, you don't say 'please' too often. You usually just throw logic at me until I have to admit I'm wrong. So...okay. Ease up on the heavy artillery."

"Very well." She nodded. "What time is it?"

"A little past 2300 hours." He said. "We can make STC by 0500 easy."

T'Pol extended her feet from the meditation position, straight to the floor off the bed, already in the process of standing to do precisely that.

"I am ready to go." She said. "I intend to have you returned with enough time to either rest or study prior to the start of your exams, if at all possible."

Trip frowned at that.

"Don't suppose we can get something to _eat _first, can we?"

"We will drive through somewhere on the way."

"Cheeseburger?"

"No."

* * *

Charles shook a bit as he poured the oil along the inscribed circle, but he managed a precise enough arc and didn't violate the borders. The sigils were all in place and formed perfectly. The specific herbs and components floating in the bowl of water, set on the floor before it.

He tugged the lighter from his pocket and lit the oil, hands barely trembling but enough that he jerked away a bit too harshly to avoid the flames that sprang up, racing around the circle to form the barrier.

And he would have paused, perhaps, before taking the final step...but he was far beyond that now. He drew the Vulcan blade from his hip without delay, reaching to cut his own palm, squeezing his hand over the bowl to let it drip there.

And spoke the name he'd been given to speak.

A rush of wind, out beyond somewhere. Just over his shoulder and a million miles away, both at once. The barest whispered fluttering of feathered wings...

But nothing appeared in the circle.

Nothing happened.

He waited, tense, watching the circle and the empty space it held in check. He could sense _something _had happened...but there was nothing there.

"The ritual is largely pointless."

Charles didn't jerk in surprise. He didn't gasp or jump or even leap for a weapon.

His breath caught in his chest...but he remained still. Turning his head carefully to look over to his left, where the voice had come from.

She was sitting there, perched impossibly on a chair. Not _in _the chair but seated up on the backrest of the old, wooden ladder back, feet resting comfortably in the seat.

Long, perfectly blond hair, graceful fingers interlaced thoughtfully, elbows on her knees. Sitting casually atop the chair, contemplating the burning circle of oil over there, beyond him.

"It represents your desperation, if anything." She said. "But I come and go according to a will that is not yours."

Charles tightened his jaw a bit, holding on to his courage.

"Well," He said, frowning. "Guess that means I'm kinda screwed then."

"You are still alive." She pointed out, even holding up one finger to emphasize that.

She rose, again impossibly, without tipping the chair over. Balancing perfectly to step down to the floor and glide gracefully across the room.

"So, as for your fate, that depends on you." She said. "It always has and always will, Charles."

"Maybe you haven't been paying attention to what's going on down here or something." He said, bitterness already seeping into his voice.

"On the contrary."

"Then where the hell have you _been?" _He demanded.

"Here." She said. "Most recently dealing with the consequences of _your _actions, among a few others. I've been quite busy with that."

Charles' anger boiled over. Everything he'd done and all that he'd been through...all of it suddenly burst through. Here at least was something he could direct his despair and rage against. Someone to blame...

"Not busy enough!" He snapped, fist already tightening around the hilt of the blade in his hand. "_You _could have stopped _all _of this...!"

"Be silent." She said, calmly.

And he was silent, just that instant. His tongue literally sticking to the roof of his mouth, leaving him to nearly choke on his fury.

"You have no excuse." She said, turning to face him now. "Both extremes have already been taken, their consequences established for eternity. You were given free rein once, without constraint, and the Earth was filled with violence in short order. Every thought of man turned only to evil. The very thing you pretend we do now, with your guilty anger."

She looked at his fist, noting the blade there, and gestured, bringing his hand before her to take the blade from him. His hand flexing open against his will, dropping the weapon into her palm.

"The most opposite extreme as well, which you now demand." She said, turning her eyes back to him again. "The Earth was flooded, wiped clean. Every evil soul sent to the grave. Shall we do this yet again, Charles? Your Father has promised you that He will not. Would you that He repent of that now?"

Charles couldn't speak, but the denial, even the argument, was there in his eyes.

"That _is _what you demand here." She said. "You would that we intervene directly in every evil thing. If we did, the Earth would not survive. There is nowhere in the universe where free sentient people dwell that would survive that."

She turned away, bringing her hand over the table nearby to let the blade fall and clatter there. Looking back at him again once she'd stepped away, to gesture again and release him.

His tongue fell free again, but he did not speak now. There wasn't much point in it.

"We do what we are able to do, and that is far more than you will even begrudgingly allow yourself to acknowledge." She said. "You are constrained enough that you do not succeed in what you would do otherwise. You have yet to make of the universe the hell you strive so constantly to making it. And you remain blind to that, willfully so. But what now, Charles?"

She said nothing more, obviously waiting for his answer.

"Well, I reckon that's up to you, isn't it?" He growled.

"Not at all." She said. "Or not precisely. I will do what I am here to do, regardless. But what of you? You have still a choice to make. The choice you deny. You are still alive, as I've said. And so, being alive, so long as you draw breath, you are still free."

Charles laughed at that.

A chuckle at first, but it built quickly to an open laugh. Almost, but not quite, hysterical.

_"Free?" _He laughed, bitterly. "How the hell am I free...?"

"You are." She said. "Of course you are. Even now you stand before an archangel, vomiting your scorn and hatred at her feet. That is certainly an act of free will. I invite you to another."

"What?" He demanded. "What am I supposed to do here? All I want is to protect my son...!"

"That is not your place any longer. He has become accountable since and many years ago. His soul is his own. Be mindful of _yours _now, Charles. That is all that is truly given into your keeping today."

His eyes narrowed then, still bitter and angry, but seeing the turning point as it came around here.

"Right." He snorted. "You want me to join you? Help _you? _Against Jahi? Well, I haven't been real impressed with you so far. I seem to be doing better on my own than waiting around for any of _you _to do anything about this!"

"I do not require your aid." She said. "Not in the least. As I've said, I will do what I have come here to do. What _you _will do is choose. You will serve Jahi or you will trust."

"Trust _what?"_

"The will that moves behind these things. The one you turn your blind eye to. The offer is open and it will remain before you until your last breath. Until then, be silent."

And again his tongue stuck, fastened firmly to the roof of his mouth, so that he grasped his jaw and grunted.

And glared, furious again.

She ignored that, moving to the table to take the chains laying there. Cold iron, inscribed with sigils on each link, practically glowing silver with the power they suggested.

Placing the length of it around her own waist. Once, twice and third time. Fastening the lock at the middle and taking the manacles attached into her hands.

Locking them firmly at each wrist herself, until she was as secured and confined as Charles had intended from the beginning.

She turned and stepped. Three steps, over and into the flaming circle waiting to complete her imprisonment. Turning again to face him from there, where he stared astonished.

"This is trust, if you find an illustration helpful." She said. "I will trust my Father and His judgment in regards to your children. And I will illustrate mercy to you as well, Charles. I will show the love to you that you have not so far shown yourself. I will remind you of your choice, so that you are not tempted to forget. If you will be blind, then be blind. Until you choose to see, you will see nothing more."

And the room plunged instantly into darkness. The last sight he saw being the archangel, trapped before him. Within the circle of flame, cuffed in iron, looking back at him calmly and beautifully from there.


	27. Welcome Home

**Starfleet Training Center  
****Cadet Compound Four  
****Sausalito, California  
****April 17, 2144****  
**

T'Pol parked the bug as close to the street bordering the front entrance as available parking would allow her. Not to be free of him quickly, but to minimize the walk back. She intended to at least escort him to the door and the walk back...she predicted that walk would prove extremely uncomfortable, perhaps painful, and so best kept short.

They said nothing as they approached the door together. Until Trip glanced tiredly over and realized, with almost a start, that she'd left her cowboy hat in the bug.

"Forgot your hat." He grinned.

T'Pol raised her eyebrow at him, that he'd failed to realize.

"This is the Starfleet Training Center compound." She explained. "I'm sure Vulcans are not especially notable here."

"Ah." Trip said, chuckling. Surprised himself that he'd forgotten. "Right. Guess I got used to being out _there, _in the real world."

They arrived at the door, just beyond the sensor's range, so as not to alert security by lingering there too long without presenting identification.

Just beyond range of the sensors...at least long enough to say goodbye.

T'Pol folded her hands at her back, not at all in the attempt to be proper, but simply to give her hands something to do for a moment.

Thankfully, Trip spoke first as they faced one another. She could find nothing to say herself.

"So...call me when you hear something?" He said, awkwardly.

She nodded. "I will, of course."

Another awkward, reluctant pause. Then something occurred to Trip and he smiled, glancing over his shoulder.

He jerked a thumb in that direction.

"See that place over there?" He said. "With all the tables out front? That's Carmello's."

T'Pol looked politely, giving the building across the street an acknowledging look. She was already aware, of course, but appreciated that he'd identified it for her. And that he'd remembered.

"We'll set a date when you call. If...well, whenever you have time..."

"Yes, that would agreeable."

He nodded.

And turned, reluctantly and awkwardly still, to enter the building.

"Trip..." She said. Perhaps just a moment _prior _to actually deciding to speak.

"Yeah?"

"I just wanted to acknowledge..." She said, hesitantly. "Anna Hadley, the cursed scarecrow, the _sirshos'im_. Even the demon possessing Rachel."

Trip looked slightly perplexed.

"I think we have established, wouldn't you agree?" She asked. "We make a good team."

Trip grinned widely at that.

"Yeah, we do seem to work pretty well together." He said.

"Perhaps more so now than before, having matured somewhat in the intervening years."

Trip nodded, agreeing with that at least in general.

"So you're going back to hunting?" He asked. "After Austin, I mean."

"I am certain Dusty has already uncovered a number of possible threats that require investigation."

"Maybe I could help out sometime?" He suggested, shrugging. "Just give me a call, if you..."

"I think we can handle things well enough, Trip. You have important work to do here, with Starfleet."

"Aren't too many hunters out there with our level of experience, though. You might need some help..."

"Trip," She interrupted. "Perhaps you should simply say it clearly."

He startled somewhat at that. But only for a moment and he hid it well.

"Say what?" He asked, innocently.

"That you will miss me and would prefer to continue our relationship."

Trip hesitated at that.

And T'Pol maintained eye contact, challenging him.

"Well, yeah...I mean, I don't mind helping out..."

"Not in regards to hunting." T'Pol specified. "Simply spending time together, intimately."

He stiffened then. Again, only slightly and well suppressed, but it was discernible.

Understandable. Her wording could easily be misconstrued.

"I'm not sure what you mean." He frowned.

T'Pol threw up an eyebrow at her apparent misunderstanding.

"Perhaps I'm mistaken." She said, nodding. "Goodbye, Trip."

He huffed out a short sigh before she'd even fully turned away.

"Okay, wait." He frowned. "Yeah. Alright. I really would like to see you again. Just...maybe hoagies? Like we talked about?"

"As good friends?" T'Pol asked, looking back at him.

To be clear here.

"Well..."

Trip hesitated. But then remembered he was bold.

"...I guess we can see what happens."

T'Pol considered that. Turning her head away slightly to do so. Arching an eyebrow again in appreciation for what she imagined in considering that.

Then turned her head back to him, to give her answer.

"I'll think about it." She said.

And turned to walk away.

"T'Pol!" Trip said, both astonished and amused.

She spared him a pause in her steps and look over her shoulder, before she fully crossed the street.

"I will think about it, Trip." She assured him.

He laughed, watching her walk away, back to the ugly, black cargo bug and all that it represented.

That was very agreeable, and she paused once she'd reached the door of the bug to look back at him. Watching him swipe the security panel with his card, stepping through the doors when they whooshed aside for him...

Pausing, once and for a moment, to look back at her, still smiling.

Before he turned away and the doors closed. Then he was gone.

And so the walk back to the bug had not been uncomfortable or painful at all. And that was very good.

* * *

Tali was waiting for him in the living room when he tapped the lights on.

Wearing the robe.

If what the robe was doing draped across less than half her body, concealing absolutely nothing at all, could accurately be called being 'wearing' it.

He stared at her for a moment, standing in the doorway, before he remembered the door he was standing in was wide open. Then he stepped in and closed it behind him, before some cadet wandering the halls at 0500 could happen by and get an eyeful of the Deltan welcome home party going on in here.

Then he stared again just a bit more.

Because, _damn_.

"Tali." He said, with an odd mixture of mild surprise, fatigue and general appreciation.

"Hello, Trip." She said, softly. "I've been waiting for you."

That...well, that made him hard a bit. And not the good kinda hard. The other kind, where he was prepared to get angry and argue, should that be necessary.

He turned and tossed his passkey on the table, already frowning.

And he sighed.

"Yeah." He said. "Except for yesterday."

Tali only cocked her head a little.

"Don't be jealous." She said. "He was very boring."

"Oh." Trip said, immediately. "Well, that's okay then. I guess I've got nothing to be upset about."

"Trip, you left me alone for three days..." She reminded him.

"Two." He argued. "One and a half, maybe."

"I don't want to fight with you." She said, waving all of that away. Already moving in on him. "I wanted to welcome you home. I missed you."

"Tali," He sighed. "Look, I'm pretty tired. Kinda wanted to catch an hour's nap before I..."

"I'll help you sleep." She said, taking his hand. Tugging a little, toward the bedroom.

"Actual _sleep_, Tali." He frowned.

"I'll help."

* * *

T'Pol waited, standing at the door of the bug. Waiting and watching until she saw the light go on up on the fifth floor. Waited a bit more, just to be sure, but Trip was home again.

So, logically, it was time for her to go.

Interestingly, she didn't want to go. She even found herself exploring rationalizations for not going just yet. Even finding one that presented a logically acceptable delay in her departure.

Carmello's. She had not actually visited the establishment yet. It was logical to prepare herself as much as she was able for her first visit there. When next she came through, it would most likely be to dine with Trip, so she would have no other opportunity.

It would undoubtedly be a very important moment. One in which it would behoove her to be comfortable with her environment.

It was not unexpected to find the diner closed, but it was somewhat disappointing. According to the sign posted on the door, it would not open for another hour at least. That was logical, as that would be when the Starfleet cadets would begin to rouse and prepare for the day. Part of that, for many of them, would be dining here for breakfast.

The door was locked but the lights were on, as bright and welcome as if the diner were already open for business. T'Pol could see clearly, standing at the window, hands folded at her back and looking in...it was certainly a very Human establishment.

The beverage dispensers, food preparation units, menu displays, janitorial units...all were automated. There was no need for an actual employee of any sort to be present, other than to deter vandalism. Yet there was a counter in clear evidence, running half the length of the diner. Room enough behind it for at the least one server, if not two. Their jobs being to provide social interaction and even deliver the meals to the tables and the customers there.

On Vulcan, such an arrangement would be dismissed as wholly inefficient and unnecessary. On Earth...it was 'homey'. Comfortable and promoting mutual affiliation. She could easily imagine the diner in operation at the moment, filled with cadets and fully staffed. All chatting amiably with one another, expressing emotion freely.

It was a pleasant imagining for her. And humorous, in that she knew well enough that none of the Humans in the diner would likely ever have cause to realize...their behavior, in the diner, on any given day, would be roughly equivalent to a loving Vulcan family, sharing company in the privacy of their own home.

Perhaps not quite that boisterous, but nevertheless.

This was why she'd come to Earth. This was why she fit in so well here. At least, far more comfortably than on Vulcan.

She loved it here, for precisely the reasons the diner itself so perfectly illustrated. Something she would never admit and was only barely comfortable acknowledging to herself.

To come here with Trip, simply to sit and eat and talk, about anything at all. She looked forward to that. It would be difficult delaying it.

But she would, until the proper time. Perhaps three months or even six. Enough time that he had comfortably returned to his routine and was more able to find a place in his life for her. Then she would come here, share this experience with him and find that together.

T'Pol took a breath, releasing it somewhat shakily.

Perfectly aware...she was far too close to her time to allow herself to imagine such things. Already it suggested _other _imaginings that were entirely irrational. Those things would wait, assuming there ever came a time when it was logical to consider them at all.

For now, this was enough. Anything else, tempting destruction. She'd had quite enough of that already.

She turned away, following the sidewalk back to the parking lot and the cargo bug, where it waited to take her on to Dusty in Texas. From there to Austin and the necessity of enduring, yet again, the curse of her people.

Passing the alleyway on the left, where the boot laying there caught her immediate attention.

The boot wasn't laying on the ground, it was pointed up. Heel on the concrete floor of the alleyway, toe up in roughly the direction of the neighboring building's eighth floor.

It poked out halfway from behind the dumpster there, but what it suggested was perfectly obvious. There was still a foot in the boot, and that foot still attached enough to a body that it likewise had not fallen over.

* * *

She was sitting right in his lap, where he lay back on the bed, folded over on top of him. His hands having made the poor decision to hold her there by the waist so she didn't move around too much...because that just gave her something to hold onto earlier. And to caress while they talked, until he relaxed enough that she could lay right down over him like that. Hands folded under her chin, just an inch from his face.

He was having to work pretty hard not to react to all that. A Deltan sitting practically buck naked in your lap, draped all over you while you lay back in bed with your shirt off...that may or may not actually mean anything. Could just be them getting comfortable.

Didn't want to give her any ideas, though. He _was _pretty tired.

"You found your father?" She asked. "That's very good."

"Yeah. Didn't go all that well, but he's fine."

"That's very good, Trip. Will you tell me about it?"

"I...can't. I really can't, Tali. I'm sorry..."

"That's alright. I don't mind. I'm glad you're back."

Trip took a deep breath, as much as he could with her making herself comfortable all over him.

"Tali..." He said, hesitantly.

"I know, Trip." She said, quietly.

"I...think we need to talk."

"I know." She said, again. "You don't want to please me anymore."

"No, Tali." He sighed. "It's not that."

"I know. I can't be what you need. I understand."

Tali rose up a bit, to kiss him tenderly on the forehead.

Even if that did mean she took the liberty of brushing some very alarmingly soft parts across his chest in the process.

Trip frowned. Once he'd caught his breath.

"Tali...how'd you know...?"

"A friend told me." She said, rubbing her cheek a little against his forehead. "But I should have already known."

"Who? How'd _they _know?"

"Maybe you mentioned it to her." Tali shrugged, looking down at him now. "It doesn't matter."

"I haven't been talking to anybody about you." He frowned. "Well, maybe T'Pol..."

"Not her." She frowned. "I don't like her, Trip."

"Well, still. I didn't..."

"I know. I don't mind. I didn't realize until after you left why you don't love me."

Trip blinked.

And she took advantage of the distraction to kiss him once, softly. Just a little, not trying to get anything _started _here.

"I...Tali..."

"It's alright. I don't love you either." She said, sparing one hand to caress his chest. Especially the hair, being entirely irresistible. "You are very pleasing, but I thought you did. But it's because I remind you of her."

Trip tensed and closed his eyes tight. But she spoke again before he could.

"I don't mind. I do wish you could please me more. I understand, though. It's alright."

"Tali, I'm sorry..."

And she was there.

Peeking through, out on the edge of his consciousness, before daring to slip through just a little.

He realized then that she'd held back until now. Something she otherwise never did.

Her mind flowed across his, very carefully and very gingerly. And there was quite a lot of wicked humor going on in there all of a sudden.

"Don't be sorry." She smiled. Smiled in his mind, at least, not in reality. "It's alright. No one's fault. We knew this would not last. I knew, at least."

Trip snorted a little, smirking slightly.

Because, yeah, he figured she did. And yeah, she probably wasn't exactly heartbroken here. He was apologizing all over the place, feeling sorry for how things hadn't worked out and all...and she probably already had the next guy lined up.

Next couple of guys, maybe.

Hell, the whole football team. Who knew?

She made a pass at the door there, the very locked up tight door. And he knew that was just a tease.

She even smiled, outwardly, when his eyes narrowed a bit.

"Can't help it." She grinned.

He had to chuckle at that.

So...well, no. Maybe he didn't love her. But he did like her a lot. She was pretty damned unique, to say the least. Couldn't really say he regretted introducing himself after class that time.

* * *

T'Pol had her phase pistol in hand less than a second later, a quick glance confirming the safety switch was off and it was set to kill, before she entered the alleyway enough to get a look at the body itself.

Human, middle aged female. Dark hair, civilian clothing, a style common to the mid-west.

Her throat had been ripped out and her eyes were wide, staring up at the night sky. From those few obvious signs available without direct examination...the corpse was relatively fresh.

The smear of yellow powder near the corpse...T'Pol didn't require touching or even directly sniffing that to identify it. Her olfactory senses were acute enough that she could easily detect the rotten egg smell of it from where she stood.

Sulfur.

And the blood in evidence had barely begun to coagulate...

She spun about instantly, to dash back to the parking lot. There to enter the Cadet Compound as she had before, up the outer wall to the automated waste disposal access...

It was here for him.

It was here for...

* * *

"Trip." She said, softly. A little huskily. Hovering over his face now, all the very favorite soft parts of her doing pretty much what he preferred they do just now. "There really isn't time enough to sleep before class."

Trip grinned. But, no...

"Tali, darlin'..."

"Yes." She breathed, already stealing a kiss before he even realized it. "Let me say goodbye. Something special."

She was already reaching under the pillow behind his head, so whatever objection he was working on then was lost in the surprised realization that she'd been quite prepared for this.

Which, yeah. Shouldn't have been a surprise.

What she pulled out from under the pillow _was _a surprise, though.

"Uh...Tali..." He said, nervously.

"It's alright." She smiled, with another soft kiss. "Just relax, Trip."

She had the one fuzzy pink cuff firmly latched onto his right wrist before he even realized. She wasn't even hurrying to do it, either. He was just that shocked.

"Uh, Tali." He tried again. "Not really my thing..."

"That's alright." She soothed, shifting sensually in his lap just enough to distract him for another short moment.

_Click_.

"It's _my _thing enough for both of us."

And...well, damn.

Trip frowned. Kinda stuck between really wanting to go ahead and just give up. Enjoy the ride she'd obviously planned out here. It was sure to be a hell of a ride.

That and get a little mad. It wasn't like she'd actually _asked _him to let her cuff him to the damned bed or anything.

And, damn it, _finals_. In _one hour_.

"Tali," He said, more firmly now. A little irritable. Frowning.

Tali smiled. Pretty wickedly, actually. Enough that he got a little concerned...

She sat up then, slowly and sensually, sit back perfectly perched right where she really shouldn't be perched just now. Getting a little hard to...well, just getting a little hard.

He opened his mouth again, finally. Took him a second to think rationally here, but he managed it. Ready to be real nice about it and all, but no, this wasn't going to happen today. For about two dozen different very good reasons.

She stirred in his mind, though. Expressing herself there in all the ways she wasn't out here. Smirking, very decidedly wicked now, and moving through his mind, touching everything she knew quite well would get the reaction she was looking for.

And sliding across the door again, just to make him nervous. That locked, barred, hermetically and magnetically sealed door in his mind, where everything he didn't want disturbing his normal life was kept securely tucked away. Quite a few new things added there over the last couple of days, in fact.

Tali lingered there. Just a bit too long, actually.

"Tali," He frowned. "Okay, that's enough. Look..."

Tali smirked. A flipped aside the first latch on the door.

Trip jerked.

"Hey! Wha...? Tali!"

And tossing the bar away. Flipping the rest of the latches, all at once.

Trip tensed, staring wide-eyed.

Suddenly terrified.

Tali took hold of the door with her mind, gripping it firmly...and paused, smirking down on him.

Until he whimpered, despite himself.

"Tali...wait..."

Then pulled it open wide.


	28. Jahi's Kiss

_Author's note: Um, wow. Okay, fair warning. This is pretty brutal, even for me. I'm a little surprised at myself. Apologies in advance._

_Honestly, it didn't seem that bad in my head, but once I typed it out and read it myself...damn.  
_

* * *

Trip grit his teeth, clenched his jaw and rode the horror.

It took everything he had, every ounce of his will to hold himself together. There wasn't a damned thing in there that he wasn't already familiar with, he'd had a thousand opportunities to pull those things out and torture himself with them over the years. And he had. Thousands of times.

They weren't tucked away in there so that he didn't have to _deal _with them. They were in there so they wouldn't pop up in the middle of warp theory class and make him break out in a cold sweat. They were there so _Tali _wouldn't stumble over them by accident someday and want to know what movie that was he'd seen, the one with the weird vampires things in it.

They were there originally, in fact, so some mind reading freak critter somewhere couldn't get to them easily. Like the _sirshos'im _in Vegas, for obvious example.

He picked through them all the time, whenever he was alone and his mind wandered past that door. It was like a cavity in his mouth, a cut on his gum. He couldn't help running his tongue over it compulsively, even if it did hurt. Hell, maybe partly _because _it hurt.

Having them all poured out in his mind at one time and gleefully picked through like that, though...that was pretty hellish.

He held on. He held out. Rode the wave, teeth ground together fiercely. Body tense, every muscle clenched. Sweating, huffing...and yeah, maybe whimpering a little bit.

It started off small.

A few fantasies pawed through quickly...

T'Pol, the succubus. That was actually a pretty good one. A little freaky maybe, but still. Selling his soul for just one night and how it was totally worth it.

The nurses at the hospital in Tampa. Oh, God. Seriously. Sponge bath, age sixteen. That had actually shoved T'Pol out of the running for a whole damned six months. Until she worked her way in there among them. And then when the rest of the nurses ended up just kinda fading away.

Lorenzo Alvarez, the guy on that internet show. And what the hell was _that_ doing in there? He didn't remember even putting that in there.

Okay, he was admittedly the only guy he'd ever thought of that way. And it wasn't like it was _serious _or anything but, yeah that _was _a little uncomfortable.

A few other things he didn't realize were in there.

Drowning.

Drowning while being eaten alive by sharks in the Gulf of Mexico.

Flesh eating bacteria.

Flesh eating bacteria in your _stomach_.

Acute radiation syndrome. Pretty much all of that, it was all bad.

The Amazons in Nebraska. How terrified he'd been at almost, _almost_, falling into that. Dad had come along just at the exact wrong time to pull him away from the heart-thundering attentions of the lady outside the library. He'd been pretty hateful and grateful for that.

Then he'd seen her there, in the mansion, with the others. Knew then just how damned close he'd come to having a kid at age fourteen. And having that kid pop up in a few days about as old as he was, looking to hack his arms and legs off.

It got worse quick...

Hearing dad and T'Pol in the next room, trying to be quiet and failing badly a time or two. And all the painful, shameful, hateful things associated with _that_.

Got angry and fed up that one time, leaving the hotel room to go down to the desk and charm the old lady working there into moving him down the hall a little. And how only T'Pol seemed to realize he'd even changed rooms the next morning. And why.

At least they cut that shit out, though. Even if it did mean she looked at him funny every single time she went off to jump in the sack with dad. Yeah, thanks for that.

The skinwalker in New Mexico. His first kill. Didn't even remember it so much. Just grabbing the knife and slashing it through the ashes, not even sure he got enough on there or if it'd even work.

He hadn't been brave. He'd been terrified. He hadn't even decided to do that. It just happened all on its own. He should have _died_.

Tali got closer.

Stumbled across Arkali.

He relived that nightmare a couple of times before she found the _actual _nightmare version of that.

Then ran through that one a half dozen times. She seemed to really like that one.

He nearly lost it before he got hold of himself again. Nearly, almost...just damned almost.

Then Tali found it.

Out of nowhere, just picked it right out.

Thrown open across his mind like confetti from hell.

T'Pol, when he was maybe thirteen. He'd done research on it, watching internet shows, taken notes. Interviewing every adult he possibly could to get some insights. Finding just the perfect way to express the thing he couldn't put into words.

Just sitting around, talking with T'Pol. Working up the nerve, taking the plunge. Asking her out for a cup of coffee. Because, see, that was perfect. It wasn't a date, it was just coffee. He'd been struck dumb by the utter _brilliance _of that when he'd first heard about it.

But she'd just stared at him. And he'd known instantly she'd seen right through it. She didn't fall back and accept the easy out implicit in the request. She'd seen immediately. He'd tossed his heart right out there on the table.

Questioning him, horrible embarrassing questions that he had to answer. Fantasies and everything. Dragging him off to the compound in Panama City to show him around to her friends. Vulcans gathered around to examine the Human child's curious fixation.

The scorn and dismissal. Stripped naked, right there in front of them. Begging T'Pol to take him home, crying and begging. She'd ignored him, pressing, digging deeper, until he'd admitted everything. _Everything_.

Escorting him to the gate of the compound, not even walking him out. Just shoving him disdainfully through to make his own way home. Never sneering, not T'Pol. But her eyes showing every bit of the disgust she had for him now. The irrational, idiot child, already grown Human enough to be ruled by animal lust and unfettered emotion. Worthless to her now, less than nothing.

It had never happened, of course. But it might as well have. He'd toyed with that particular bone chilling fear enough that it was even more vivid a memory than a lot of things that had actually happened.

Tali rubbed his face right in that one, for a good long time.

And that's the one that broke him.

* * *

T'Pol wasn't quite thinking logically, so running across the parking lot toward the Starfleet Cadet Compound with an illegal phase pistol in her hand, in clear view, that was a point of concern.

Considering the two Starfleet security officers crossing the lot at the moment, coming her way.

She immediately slowed, still several meters away, and they'd already noticed the weapon in her hand, so she raised it above her shoulder to the side. Along with her other hand opposite that, raising them both into clear view, in expectation of the order to do so.

Neither man ordered her to raise her hands, or drop the weapon, or even to halt. As they should have.

Nor did they put a hand to the weapons at their sides, phase pistols of their own. Though limited entirely to a stun setting, as civilian peace keepers of a sort, they would nonetheless have proven quite sufficient in subduing her.

So she wasn't surprised when they smirked and their eyes turned instantly black.

She kept moving forward, at a fast walk. Dropping the hand holding the phase pistol again, to fire on the first of them.

He didn't even shrug it off. He just walked right into it for the full second it burned into him, but it was distraction enough to cover her reach into her jacket pocket with the other free hand.

She tossed the pistol forward, toward the one she'd just shot, bouncing it harmlessly off his chest. Only a further mild distraction as she pulled the compressed one-shot canister free of her jacket and leveled it at them both.

Little more than two steps away now, moving forward, with both of them coming eagerly for her in return, when she triggered the canister.

It kicked and popped rather loudly, but it doused the both of them with a powerful aerosol blast of holy water. Every exposed inch of skin immediately smoking and burning.

They convulsed, screaming, stopped in their tracks and grasping at the burning flesh they'd hijacked long enough for her to reach the first of them. Drawing the wooden stake from inside her jacket pocket and hauling back to ram it underhanded, directly into the chest of the first one. The one she'd already shot and thrown her pistol at.

Palo Santo, holy wood. Carved carefully to a perfect sharp point, tempered, blessed and inscribed with quite a few symbols of particular relevance here.

He went down instantly, stake smoking in his chest, to writhe helplessly at her feet while she turned her attention to the other one.

They should have used their phase pistols before she got to them.

* * *

Trip was overwhelmed, barely able to breath. Crying freely and gagging at little, not from nausea but from nothing more than the overpowering shame and humiliation wracking him.

Jahi looked down at this with delight. It was absolutely delicious.

She leaned forward over him, hands on the steel bars of the headboard he was cuffed to.

Eyes flashing green already with excitement.

"Now, Trip." She grinned, wickedly. "Let's talk about lust."

He tried to fight through it but his efforts were lost in the ocean of shame drowning him. He could barely breathe. A million miles beneath the surface, the sunlight out there beyond...nothing more than a memory he couldn't even recall.

"Lust is beautiful thing, Trip." She said, sneering down on him, inches from his face. "I think you're close to the truth on that one but you haven't dug quite deep enough yet."

He barely heard her and cared not at all.

"It's like an itch you gotta scratch, right? But, see, like an itch, you scratch enough, well, it starts to _hurt_. There's your first clue, little boy."

Jahi rose up again, reaching over to the bedside table, snatching open the drawer near at hand. Fetching the toys she'd prepared for him.

The piano wire first, tucking the one end through the loop at the other, making a nice wire noose. Tossing that over her own head at the neck and cinching it up nice and tight. But not _too _tight. Not just yet.

"And what about that itch that hurts to scratch, see?" She said, plucking up the leather collar and bending to begin fastening it around his neck. While he gagged and gasped delightfully.

His eyes only barely, just _barely_, trying to come into focus again.

"Don't you just _love _those?" She said. "It hurts and feels good, all at once. And, oh, you just can't help yourself. It's _ecstasy_. You're kind of sad to see it go, when it does. You're getting closer with that, though. But you have to dig a little deeper, Trip."

She cinched the collar at his throat tight, making it all the harder for him to breathe. Never mind the choking emotions he was so hilariously drowning in still, _that _made his face turn a little crimson and sweaty.

"Once you get past that," She said, still at work. "The pleasure/pain thing, you start getting into _pain_. And _that's _the secret of lust, Trip. The beauty of pain. And don't worry, we'll go over that someday, you and me. But today, I've got something else in mind."

His eyes were coming into focus finally. More quickly than she'd expected, really. Which was just perfect.

Didn't want him to miss the good stuff.

She plopped the last of her little toys up on his chest. Leather straps and stainless steel.

He didn't even notice, staring at her desperately. Pleading in his eyes, a little. No anger yet, but that would come in a minute.

"You're an engineer at heart, aren't you, sweetie?" Jahi said, tilting her head knowingly. "That little boy inside still trying to make daddy proud? Well, my little engineer, I think you'll appreciate this."

* * *

T'Pol stomped sideways at the knee of the second one, putting him down for a moment. Still overcome with the holy water drenched all over him, he was only just starting to get angry about it.

She had time to fetch the knife from her ankle sheath. Custom made, in orbit, as the manufacture required near perfect zero-g conditions. A thin layer of film-thin diamond, sandwiched between very high density iron plating. It was heavy for it's size, sharp beyond reckoning and could, literally, cut through duranium, given enough time and patience.

And muscle. She was Vulcan, so she had enough of that.

She slashed at his arm when he reached for her, cutting to the bone with no effort at all.

He screamed, the iron and the holy water already weakening him. Terrorizing him. Sending him stumbling back, suddenly trying to figure out where all _this _had come from.

She went after him immediately, ducking under his wild roundhouse to slash again.

And again, and a third time. Until he threw one wild, panicked strike too far and she was in, under his arm and past his defenses, kicking his legs out from under him and throwing him back across her knee.

Knife slamming directly into his heart. Killing the host, certainly, but that was simply unfortunate.

She let him fall to the street, gagging and grasping vainly at the blade burning in his chest. The variant of the fifth pentacle of Mars etched in the blade keeping him from even removing it.

She turned to look quickly. The first one was still held in place by the stake as surely as if it extended through him into the ground itself. Likewise grasping vainly at the wood, which would no more allow his touch than the pentacle on the blade did the other.

She reached and tugged her jacket back into place, where all the disagreeable fighting had dislodged it. Then reached in at the neck of her tee shirt, drawing out the talisman there.

Grasping it firmly and proceeding quickly, prior to either of these two hopeless, lower order demons developing the intelligence to simply depart the hosts they'd taken before it was too late.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus," She intoned. "Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii..."

Both of them jerked their attention to her. The holy wood and the inscribed iron dagger suddenly not so great a concern, it would seem.

"Omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica!"

They roared and they writhed and they grasped impotently a little more at the simple, material objects holding them in place by the very laws they'd perverted to take these hosts. Were she prone to humor, she might have chuckled at the irony.

"Ergo, draco maledicte. Ecclesiam tuam securi tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos!"

Black smoke erupted to either side of her, departing both hosts in a fury of fear and desperation. Neither managing to reach beyond two meters of the bodies left behind before hitting the metaphysical wall and pooling against up in the air for a moment...before losing their last, manic grip on the material plane and being sucked out again.

Back to the dark places, to languish a little longer before finding their way back to the universe. If ever at all.

It quickly occurred to her, in retrospect, that she could have, indeed should have, used the equivalent Vulcan chant here. That would have confined both of them to the nearest local star for a thousand years.

Sol was a yellow dwarf. That would have been extremely uncomfortable and far more appropriate.

She moved quickly to recover the wooden stake, flinging what gore she could from it before replacing it in her jacket pocket. And now she would have to replace the jacket, having soiled it that way, so that was very disagreeable.

Her blade as well, doing the same with a harsh flick before returning it to its sheath.

Moving on without delay to the Cadet Compound across the street, leaving the corpses in the parking lot behind her.

Too angry, aroused and violent to care especially about that at all.

* * *

"See, this?" Jahi said, holding up the odd contraption of leather and steel. "Just the coolest little gadget I picked up at a very lovely shop downtown."

She slipped the leather straps over his head, down behind his neck and across his chin, and he was already just lucid enough to struggle a bit.

Not much though, and not very effectively. He was far too weak from his little bout with imagined childhood trauma.

"Not the sort of place you'll probably ever bring your little T'Pol to, but hey, you never know." She said, buckling everything into place tightly. The stainless steel 'spider' shape forcing his jaw open and settling the whole thing securely on his chin, so he couldn't shake it off.

"It's a spider gag, state of the art." She grinned. "Sounds cool, right? Well, you're probably not going to like it very much."

She surveyed her handiwork for a moment.

Trip, cuffed to the bed, jaw forced open. Just now finally, _finally_, starting to grow his spine back a bit. Starting to glare and trying to figure some way to express his intentions past that stainless steel bit without sounding stupid.

"There we go." She said, satisfied. "Or, no...wait a second."

She reached, snagging the short wire and the dermal sticky pad from the side of one strap. Fastening that firmly to the side of his throat.

"This little attachment, on the throat here?" She said. "That sends an neural pulse to the nerves in your neck. Makes you swallow compulsively every couple of seconds. That'll start hurting in a while, I'm afraid. But you're a real trooper, Trip. You'll soldier right through, won't you?"

She looked him over again, eyes flashing green once more.

"You know," She said, huskily. "This is really turning me on, Trippy. Is this turning _you _on?"

He glared, huffing.

"Well, I guess not." She pouted. "Oh, well. It's turning _me _on enough for both of us."

Trip gagged something at her. Something that almost sounded like an attempt to communicate.

"Right," She nodded, seriously. "Almost forgot. Here, _this _little attachment on the other side of the neck...there we go...that shuts down your vocal cords."

She leaned in close again, whispering in his ear. "Don't want to disturb the cadets next door, do we?"

She didn't sit back up, though. She brought her head back over to face him up close, bare inches away. Staring down at him, practically nose to nose.

Reaching, while she kept her eyes locked on his, to fasten the other short length of piano wire about her neck to one of the hardened steel 'spider leg' at the side of his mouth.

Hands on the bed then, to either side of his head, just outside his arms where they were still cuffed tight.

Pulling back, just far enough, less than a few inches, to tighten the wire around her neck just a tad more. So Trip could see that.

Trip's eyes snapped wide.

He got it.

"See?" She grinned, chuckling evilly. "You get it, don't you? Such a smart boy. I knew you were a good choice. I kinda hope Bobby don't make it now. Cause, see, if he don't, then my deal with daddy's bust, Trip. And then I'm coming for _you_, my beautiful little boy."

She stared down at Trip where he lay, helpless in almost more ways than she could count.

He was nearly in a panic and couldn't do a thing about it.

"What's that your little Deltan always says?" Jahi asked, curiously. "Oh. Right. 'Glorious'. This is just _glorious_, isn't it, Trip?"

He breathed pretty hard, trying to get his vocal cords to _do _something. And never mind the steel ring in his jaws, maybe he meant to just _gag _at her.

Jahi chuckled.

"Now, you don't have to thank me, Trip." She admonished. "Lilina told me about the little break up you planned for Tali. I'm saving you a bit of messy trouble with that one, I know. She is not happy about that. You should hear her. So _this _little messy bit of trouble...maybe not so bad, right?"

Jahi leaned in close again, already too close for comfort.

"Just relax now." She whispered. "Any minute your lovely T'Pol's going to come busting right through that door to save you. Just any minute now, Trip. And, oh my..."

Her eyes flashed green again at that.

"...this is going to be so cool."

* * *

T'Pol scaled the wall outside the compound easily, up to the automated waste disposal access. Keying the code one-handed, the other gripping the ledge to the side, dodging the round door as it opened. The receptacle within expecting to receive a waste disposal drone but getting a fairly furious and murderously intent Vulcan instead.

In through the access, kicking out the emergency panel there, dropping straight down into the maintenance office. Not bothering to hack the door as she had the last time she was here. She kicked that open instead, triggering a few security alarms as a result.

She didn't care. Trip was in danger and he was _hers_.

Not claimed yet perhaps and maybe he never would be, but he was male, intimately affiliated and he _belonged _to her. That was enough.

So she was going to kill everything she met between here and there. And anything _there_, daring to _threaten _him, she may do worse than merely kill.

The alarm screeching in the dormitory hall beyond was piercingly loud, far more than could possibly be necessary. It made her ears ring and her lip twitch, so she allowed herself to bare her teeth furiously rather than fight either impulse any longer.

One cadet emerged from a room she stalked past, daring to confront her, _question _her, so she sent him back head first into his room. Barely pausing in stride.

Slamming through the lock on the emergency stairwell access, triggering more alarms, up the stairs to the next floor up, bursting through the door there as well.

Her chest heaving, breathing rapidly, _growling_ now.

Finding his door near at hand, raising a foot back to _stomp _out at it, right where the security bar within secured it to the frame. Snapping it cleanly, sending the door flying back out of the way, already darting through behind it into his dorm room.

_Looking _for him. Looking for what _threatened _him. To _hurt _it.

Straight back to the bedroom, throwing the door open.

And the Deltan slut...

Was there, on top of him.

He was cuffed to the bed in some _disgusting _sex game.

He was _helpless_. She'd _seduced _him, barely home only moments ago! His finals, he was tired, in danger...

Everything infuriatingly _wrong _with this burned through her mind as she stalked forward, snarling loudly...

Snatching the slut by the arm.

Yanking her away, furiously.

_Away _from him.

The sudden, unexpected gout of spraying blood surprised her. So she stopped yanking immediately, snatching her hand away, startled. Allowing Tali to fall right back from where she pulled her away.


	29. Nothing Left

T'Pol stared, wide-eyed, hand drawn back protectively from the sudden horror it had somehow evoked.

Then her eyes flickered and her mind raced, seeing it all and taking it all in instantly. Understanding in only a moment exactly what had been done here. What _she _had done.

And still she was shocked, all the more, and for exactly and precisely too long. She saw him struggle...and his throat convulse...before she was able to react.

The Deltan was dead. The wire, attached there to the leather collar at Trip's neck...

She stepped and snatched at it, _ripping _it from him. The cuffs, holding him to the bed...reaching and taking them, _pulling_...snapping the chains away.

He scrambled already, fingers fumbling at his neck to slap the dermal electrodes away. Then digging madly at the evil strap around his neck and on his chin.

She took it and _broke _it, throwing it absently behind her.

He choked and gagged, trying to launch himself up and off the bed. She helped him..._tried _to help him...he pushed her aside, stumbling past desperately...

He didn't make it to the bathroom. He fell to his knees only two staggering steps away, vomiting already. A gout and splash of blood and bile on the floor before him where he kneeled now. Choking, gasping and groaning.

And crying, keening. Shaking from it.

She was there, at his side, instantly. Holding him up, holding him too her. Still horrified at what had been done here. What had been done to him.

What she had done.

He reached for her, desperately. Gripping her tightly enough to hurt. Crying uncontrollably, trembling.

She...didn't know what to do. She didn't know what to do about this.

She could only hold him to her. Hold him away from everything that had happened here, close to her where he was safe.

And there was the subtlest slithering movement from the bed.

T'Pol turned to look, over Trip's head where he trembled and cried and shook at her chest. The Deltan's body twitched on the bed. Impossibly, as she'd nearly decapitated her with that one furious yank against the wire around her neck.

Black smoke erupting suddenly, from Tali's eyes and mouth...and the great gash of her throat...flashing with sparks of crimson deep within the roiling mass of it. Arcing up like a black snake to coil at the ceiling for a moment.

Looking down on her, T'Pol knew. Watching, filled with sadistic glee at the sight.

Darting and flowing out the door of the room and gone with barely a breath of sound.

Trip suddenly stopped crying. Suddenly tensed, hard as a rock under her hands. His breathing somehow slow and deep again.

Pulling away from her...moving unsteadily to take his feet again...

"Trip..." She breathed, looking up at him, alarmed and shaken.

He glanced back for a moment, looking down on her from where he stood, swaying slightly to keep his balance. Looking down where she still sat on the floor.

His eyes as black as the coldest night.

And he struggled, she saw. Even as she scrambled back a little, preparing to take to her feet now as well. He struggled, muscles tense and jaw tight.

She took to her feet quickly, stepping away, her eyes wide and wary. Watching him, terrified for him.

_Of _him, perhaps. A little.

She struggled herself as well, trying to regain control again. Trying to understand what was happening...

Trip lost whatever struggle he waged, throwing one hand out toward the wall of the room with an almost violent flail of his arm.

And the wall exploded. Blasted away by whatever unseen rage he level at it. Launched out in a great mass of violent debris, out over the street and the parking lot beyond.

That other hand coming for her then, reaching out to grab her...without touching her at all.

Something snatched her into the air, spinning her wildly. She was disoriented immediately, knowing only that she moved and far too fast, too madly to follow. One single, short memory of that fateful night decades ago, in Trip's nursery, flashing through her mind. That night when the demon, the same one she'd just witnessed leave Tali, she now knew, had thrust her into the wall in the exact same manner.

That was this. It was the same power again.

One brief sensation of the night air rushing across her skin before she impacted. Something hard smashing into her back.

Or, rather, her back smashing into _it_. Something that gave way beneath her, almost breaking completely before finally molding itself somewhat around her. Her breath knocked out of her, still disoriented, unable to focus her eyes for a moment.

And when she did finally...the building itself loomed before her then. The southern wall of the Starfleet Cadet dormitory. One great hole punched out of it, up on the fifth floor.

He'd thrown her from the room. Tossed her out, into the air over the parking lot.

She struggled, catching her breath in a great gasp, coughing helplessly. Pushing away from the thing that tried to hold her now. The roof of some vehicle she'd landed on, collapsed almost completely around her. She was almost too numb from the trauma of it all to find her way free.

Finally turning over with one desperate effort, to grab frantically around her. Pulling herself out and free again, to fall across the forward hood of the car and slide helpless to the concrete below.

Laying there for a moment more, on her back, trying to catch her breath enough to move again.

To go back.

Find him, _help _him.

Laying there still, too numb and dizzy to move again...when the rest of the building began to explode in flames above her.

Room by room, window by window, one after another until her sight blurred again and she passed out.

* * *

Starfleet emergency response lived up to its name, responding quickly and on the scene in minutes. Fast enough that medics were on hand, attempting to assess her by the time she stopped crawling and regained her feet again.

Caught her breath finally, found her balance again. Focused her eyes and oriented on the building enough to identify the front door, where it stood open now.

They were on hand to stop her as well, when she tried to stagger back in, ignoring her protests and her insistence that she had to reach him.

Finally getting through to her that the building was too dangerous to enter. That firefighters were already arriving and that rescue efforts would begin in moments. She would only get in the way, become a casualty herself.

She could do nothing. Only collapsing to her knees again, meters still from the front door. Kneeling there, overwhelmed, forcing the firemen and rescue teams to work around the crazed Vulcan woman on her knees in the middle of the street.

Kneeling there, watching and waiting. Until she was certain he was lost. That no miracle would occur here that he might emerge from the flames and collapsing debris. No rescue officer would appear with him under their arm, oxygen mask to his face, with a minor burn or two.

She knelt and waited in despair, until she knew that he wouldn't walk out of that to return to her.

But he did.

And his eyes were hard and cold as he stepped out of the burning building. The place where all his dreams and the normal life he'd managed to claim for himself had once resided.

Where his lover now lay dead, by the twisted mind of a demon and by her own ignorant, irrational hand. Friends and classmates, hopes and dreams, burning around and behind him in effigy. An evil, bloody, burning gravestone marking the death of it all.

T'Pol could only stare as he walked out of the building, rescue officers and firemen darting around him, most of them abandoning the place themselves.

His eyes dead and empty, but no longer black now. She watched and he didn't look at her when he came to stand over her.

He looked back up at the dormitory, cold and hard now, and he watched it burn.

* * *

Carl Roacher came around to the side cargo door of the truck, pulling it open to root around in the cooler there on the seat. Digging around a bit, looking for that last ham and cheese sandwich.

They'd been out here for hours already, walking the length of the field, scanning _everything_. Deep geoscans, trying to figure out just what the hell happened out here. Half the damned salt mine had just collapsed in on itself, for no apparent reason.

Mr. Cairns was just about beside himself, so there'd be no going home until they had some answers here.

It was frustrating, though. It's not like the company was ever going to reopen this mine, at least not anytime soon. They'd been sitting on the thing for decades now. They might sell it, maybe. Someday, if it ever looked like they could make some kind of profit on it. And of course the damned thing just collapsing in all over the place like that didn't help that. They'd have a hard time pawning it off now, since whoever picked it up next would just have to go through all the trouble of excavating...

But, damn. Still. They'd been out here all night. The sun was about to come up, for crying out loud.

Billy and Hanson were still out on the north end of the field. Rodriguez walking up now to get himself something from the cooler and Rico over there, sitting on the generator already munching down.

Because, yes, damn it. They'd be out here another few hours before they'd be able to honestly say they'd done all they could to figure this out. And that there was just no figuring it out. So might as well take a break...

Carl sighed to himself, fetching out that ham and cheese sandwich he finally found. Unwrapping it, doing his best to console himself with the fact that they were making time and a half here. So there was that, at least.

He had the sandwich halfway to his mouth before he noticed.

Rico was up on his feet, whatever he'd be chowing down on dropped to the ground in front of him. Standing there, hands kind of out from his sides a little, just shaking.

Like...he was getting _electrocuted _or something.

Carl dropped his own sandwich at that. His first thought...Rico _had _been sitting on the generator...

But, no. He wasn't sitting on it anymore. He was standing there, convulsing, on his feet beside it. And that big cloud of black smoke whirling around in the air in front of him...

He'd already dashed around to the back of the truck, to come around and race over there, but the smoke was suddenly just gone. It almost seemed like it had drawn right into Rico, maybe...like, into his _face_...but that didn't make any sense.

Rico was just standing there now, not shaking anymore...

Rodriguez had already got to him before he could, so Carl stopped short at that. Just staring over, a little confused. Wondering it he'd really seen anything he just saw.

He'd been up all night, scanning the field, so maybe he was hallucinating...?

"Hey, Rico!" Rodriguez said, concerned. "You alright?"

He'd come to a stop, too, just like Carl. A few meters away, apparently not sure either at what he'd just seen.

Rico turned his head to look over at Rodriguez.

Smiling, kind of...creepy like.

"Why, I'm just right as rain." He said, smoothly.

Carl opened his mouth to say something. Maybe to say something about the smoke and how he'd just been standing there looking like he was having a seizure on his feet just a second ago...

That turned into a wordless yell instead. A yell of startled surprise at the big, black cloud of smoke curling in behind Rodriguez. Just coming out of nowhere, out of the darkness, right up behind him.

Come out of nowhere..._fast_...

Carl yelled again, wide-eyed.

_"Rodrig-...!" _

That was all he had time for. The long cord of smoke struck Rodriguez right in the back, splitting up and curling around him...right into his face...right into his _mouth_...

In just a second. Not even a damned _second!_

Rodriquez jerked and convulsed for a quick moment, as the smoke just poured right into him. Until it was all gone and he was just standing there...just like Rico a minute ago...

Carl stumbled back, suddenly terrified and not even really clear on what the hell was going on. But Rico...he looked over at Rico, partly to be sure _he'd _seen what had just happened too...and partly because he was still half sure the same thing happened to _him _a minute ago.

Rico was looking over at him, smiling.

And his eyes were black. Pitch black. Not just the pupils but _everything_. His whole eyeball, looked like.

Carl turned and ran. Didn't even think about it. He wasn't thinking at all. He just did it, turned and started running.

Maybe making some kind of terrified sound as he did, but he wasn't sure and certainly wasn't paying attention to that sort of thing. He was all about getting the hell out of there.

Made it a couple of meters before something snatched at his feet and knocked him down. And whatever it was didn't let go. It started dragging him.

Dragging hard and fast, across the open ground. Right past the trucks into the brightly lit area in between, beneath the big field light. Carl was already screaming just from that, never mind how getting dragged that hard and fast across the ground hurt like hell.

Whatever had dragged him turned and flipped him over on the ground, face up. A sudden pressure sitting right over him, on his stomach and legs and arms. So he couldn't _move_.

Just laying there, terrified and gibbering a little, right at their feet. Rico and Rodriguez, both looking now at him, smirking.

Carl gasped and startled when Billy suddenly appeared.

Flying through the air, wailing, to land with a thump right next to him. And something must have reached out and grabbed him, too, because he suddenly flipped over on his back and started whimpering and struggling.

Hanson walked up, coming right in between Rico and Rodriguez. They even stepped aside to make way for him.

And his eyes were black too, Carl saw. As cold and black as the two others.

Rico look down between the two of them, then frowned out at the air around them.

"Where is Lilina, Jahi?" He frowned.

"She's running a little late, apparently." Hanson sneered.

Rodriguez growled. "She's starting to piss me off. She loses Bobby and then gets ganked by the Tuckers in a damned _alleyway_. If you ask me, she's proving a little _useless_."

Rico snorted. "Sure. And where's your pet, Lamia? Oh! That's right, she got her _head _blown off..."

"Well, where's yours, bitch?" Rodriguez sneered. "She blew her _own _head off..."

"Shut up!" Hanson snapped.

They shut up.

Still glaring at one another, but at least not confusing him any further with all that..._craziness _they'd just said.

Beside him, Billy suddenly decided to speak.

"What...what the hell...?" He stuttered, terrified.

"I said..._shut up_." Hanson repeated, looking over at him.

Rico snorted again.

"Well, we've got two." He said. "She can pick one when she gets here."

Rodriguez gestured over at Billy.

"That one's cute." He said. "The other guy's a fatty..."

Hanson snapped his fingers.

And Billy suddenly caught on fire.

All of him. All at once, blazing like he'd been dunked in burning oil.

He started screaming immediately. And so did Carl, eyes bulging out of his head, screaming over at him.

"That's what she gets for being late." Hanson said. "She can have the fat guy."

Carl kept screaming, long after Billy stopped. Right up until another one of the horrible, roiling cords of smoke came rushing in across the field to hover over them all.

Looking down on him, he somehow knew.

Hesitating, looking down at him, where he screamed hysterically. While Hanson and Rico and Rodriguez just laughed.

Then falling down on him, like some impossible nightmare...

* * *

They had to slip away quietly before anyone could think to cordon off the area. Begin questioning people, reviewing security recordings, discover the bodies in the parking lot and realize there must be a connection.

It would take days before her contacts could clean up the worst of the mess. Step on police bulletins, arrest warrants and detainment orders. Obscure their identities, shuffle them about, lose them. Until the various law enforcement organizations weren't looking for them anymore. At least not specifically.

They made use of a local contact in San Francisco, crashing a safe house there for the rest of the morning. Trip said nothing the whole time, unresponsive and withdrawn.

She cleaned him up as best she could. Changed his clothes from the things she'd bought him before, still in the back of the cargo bug. Tried to comfort him and reach him, but he sat and said nothing. Shying away from her touch enough that she couldn't bring herself to make the attempt any longer.

Eventually forced to sit and wait herself, watching over him until the morning hours passed. But he only sat and stared, overwhelmed and broken.

Until at last, as noon approached, he slept.

She touched him one last time then, when he couldn't shy away. Brushing his hair from his forehead while he slept before taking up vigil next to him to meditate.

His leaving roused her to awareness again, an hour later, in time to see him walk out the door.

She followed.

And this thing was all too familiar to her.

He spent several minutes at the cache in the trunk of the bug, checking the weapons and gear. Performing routine maintenance, she could see, despite the fact the lot was completely open to the public. Anyone could walk by and notice the vast array of deadly weapons on display.

But he didn't care, she knew. Like his father before him, he cared now for very little.

He sighed lightly when she finally came to stand beside him, looking over at him, rather than watching from the door of the hotel room any longer.

Looking over, waiting for him.

He took a slow breath before speaking, as if unsure he still knew how. And his voice did rasp a bit.

"Called command a little while ago." He said, flatly. Emotionlessly. "While you were meditating."

Not what she'd expected him to say, if she expected anything at all.

"You called them?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "Resigned my commission."

Her heart..._caved _at that. Her every unrealized fear here falling suddenly upon her.

She was devastated, just that easily. With only those few words.

"Trip, no..." She breathed.

"They're all dead." He said, coldly. "'Cause I was just fooling myself. I never should have been there. This is where I'm supposed to be."

She held her breath a moment, suppressing the pain and despair. Until she could speak again.

"Trip, we can...there must be a way..."

"It's not a big deal."

"No..."

He tossed the rifle he'd just checked into the cache, grabbing the collapsible compound bow next.

"Had an idea," He said, looking it over carefully. "A while back. Never worked on it. Iron demanifests spirits and hurts demons, partly cause it's a conductor. Spiritually _and _physically. So iron plated arrows, with the right inscription, micro-etched on the shaft..."

"Trip, please..."

"...you could immobilize a possessed host, just like your dagger or holy wood. Hell, theoretically, with a little _kava'kel _root and Surok's seventh _ho-rah_ _let'theiri_..."

"Trip..."

"...maybe even banish them right to the pit..."

"Trip, stop!" She insisted.

He sighed, pausing for a moment.

Then tossed the bow into the trunk.

"We're gonna to go see Dusty." He said, firmly. "Alright?"

A question, yes, but his tone brooked no dissent. He would leave her and go himself, she knew.

She had been here before.

Long ago, with his father. Exactly here, where she stood now.

With Trip now.

She tried to suppress her despair, but it showed through anyway. Cracking her voice when she spoke.

"Very well." She said, quietly. And what else was there to say?

He slammed the trunk closed.

"Come on." He said, flatly. "We've got a lot of work to do."

He left her there, standing at the rear door of the cargo bug. Standing there, staring at everything she'd just lost. All her hopes for him, all his unrealized dreams and goals.

All of her own as well. Everything Charles had promised her, if she only stepped away and led Trip out of this life. All of it lost, and so much more besides.

But, of course.

She'd allowed herself to be tempted away. Led astray, yet again. And she'd lost everything now, yet again. Not only that but Trip as well, he'd suffered the same. They'd lost everything, both of them.

There was nothing left for them.


	30. Losing Contact

_Author's note: I admit I'm going a little overboard here, but I couldn't help myself. _

_All in good fun, right?_

* * *

**The Roadhouse  
****Amarillo, Texas****  
**

Dusty Jones cracked open the engine housing on the bike and poked around for a minute. Tugging the wore out, oil stained cap off his head and readjusting the ponytail holding his old pepper gray hair in check...then slapping it back on and poking around a bit, in case there was something _else _wrong in there that wasn't completely obvious.

There wasn't. Spark plug, that was it. So Holson was an idiot and couldn't even figure that out.

Sheesh.

He got to work. Nothing more than spinning a ratchet a few times and changing it out. Five minutes flat and only because he wasn't in no kinda hurry.

Had her purrin' again, breathing vapor and ready for the road just that easy.

Dusty smiled a little at that, before killing the ignition and giving the girl a loving pat on the hip. She was just a piece of crap _Aerosport _double-ought six hydrogen engine, but she had heart enough.

He turned away, wiping the oil off his hands with a old, red rag, and spotted the suit right away.

He was standing right there, after all. Just inside the garage, looking around curiously like he had some kinda pass to go wanderin' wherever the hell he felt like.

Dusty took him in with a quick glance before deciding how hard to come down on him.

Clean lookin' fellah, very well groomed all around. Suit wasn't expensive but it fit right and had 'government' written all over it.

Shoes were expensive though, and he was in good shape. Lean and mean, this guy. Handsome face and slightly smirking smile, but he wouldn't be going home to cry about it if he had to put you down. Unless you made a mess on those shoes in the course of it.

Dusty snorted. And that got the guy's attention.

He smiled politely over at him, and yeah, there's the smirking smile.

"Bar's next door, fellah." Dusty grumbled. "This here's a garage, in case you missed it."

"I see that." The man smiled, looking around again curiously. "Choppers."

British, then, from the accent. Probably something international, probably Interpol.

"_Motorcycles_." Dusty corrected. "Only panty waste urban assholes call 'em 'choppers'."

The man smiled wider.

"Of course." He chuckled. And shrugged, shyly. "I suppose I would fall into that category."

Dusty stared, wiping the last of the grease off his fingers and tossing the rag onto the worktable near at hand.

"So..." The man said, "I'm looking for Dusty Jones."

"Congratulations, you found him. You owe me money?"

The man smirked again. "No, I don't believe so."

"Then have a nice day." Dusty said. "Somewhere's else. Ain't got time for yah."

The man smiled again. And took another casual step into the garage.

Right into the devil's trap on the ceiling.

So Dusty decided to give him another minute.

"I am looking to do business, though." The man said. "I suppose I'd owe you money _then_."

"What kinda business?"

"Well, I understand you hire out as security." He explained. "Bodyguards, things like that. You and your biker chaps. The, uh, 'Berserkers', is it?"

Dusty nodded, grunting.

"Yeah, that's right." He said. "But not for gover'ment types. You already got plenty enough. And since I pay my taxes regular and I don't owe _you _money, I reckon we're done talkin'. So we're back to the 'have a nice day'."

The guy offered a polite frown and nod at that. Regretful at how they couldn't do business and all.

Then went right on lingering around, stepping right out of the devil's trap to do it. Paying particular attention to Dusty's bike all of a sudden.

"Love the paintwork." He said, appreciatively. "What are those, Norse symbols?"

He glanced over, inquisitively, at Dusty. Turning right back to the bike when he stared him down. It was a _Freerange _oh-two-five, pretty extensively customized. And, yeah, the paintwork, too.

"The valknut, triple horn, the auseklis." He said, pointing them out. "And the runes...riding, horse and joy. Would that be her name then?"

Dusty let that hang for a minute, just to be sure the government fellah could see he hadn't thrown him off none.

"So what's the job?" Dusty asked then.

The guy smirked a bit then.

"Well, let's not be hasty." He chuckled. "I want to be sure who I'm dealing with here. I've heard some things but...doesn't hurt to ask a few questions."

Dusty growled a little impatience at that.

"Mister, if you got questions, then you don't who you're talking to already." He said. "And if you don't know me, then we ain't got no business together."

"Well, I'm just curious." The man said, reassuringly. "Just curious. Like the amanita muscaria, the mushroom. Is _that _the secret?"

Dusty's eyes narrowed.

"Now, I don't think it is." The man explained, quickly. "But that's what all the books say. Of course some sources say it's just plain magic. Others...that you're all some kind of shapeshifter. I lean more toward a mixture of the mushroom and the magic, myself. That would be it, wouldn't it?"

Dusty said nothing, jaw tight now.

The man smiled.

"I'm right, aren't I?" He said. "Some kind of potion, with amanita muscaria extract. A magic spell and an unarmed hunt. You take down a bear...barehanded, mind you, pardon the pun...eat its heart, then you get yourself some ink work done fairly quick, before the magic gets away, right?"

Dusty breathed deep, in and out, through his nose. Slowly, staying calm.

Just waiting.

"_'Straight away bring your throat to its steaming blood,_'" The man quoted, "_'And devour the feast of its body with ravenous jaws. Then new force will enter your frame, an unlooked-for vigor will come to your muscles, accumulation of solid strength soak through every sinew._' That's from Saxo, volume one."

"Mister," Dusty said, grimly. "You know who I am and you just come in here and lay it out like that? What are you, stupid?"

The man blinked in mock surprise.

"Well, make up your mind, Mr. Jones." He said, confused. "Am I supposed to know you or _not _know you?"

"I don't work for gover'ment." Dusty growled. "Now, if you know that, and you know you can't kill me or even slow me down none, what're you here for?"

_"'A third song I know, if sore need should come of a spell to stay my foes;'" _The man quoted again. _"'When I sing that song, which shall blunt their swords, nor their weapons nor staves can wound.' _The Poetic Edda, Hollander's translation."

He shrugged regretfully then. "And you're right, of course." He said. "I'm not here to hire you. And I can't kill you, not when you're good and mad, so I'm not here for that either. Of course, if I _was _here to kill you, then all I'd have to _do _is get you mad...then leave and come back later, when you're all worn out. Burn a hole in your head while you're laying around wasted. Egil's Saga, page seventy-two."

"Who the hell _are _you?" Dusty demanded.

"Agent Reed." He said, straight away. "Division Ten."

"Alright Mister Agent Reed. What do you want?"

The man, the government agent, looked around the garage again. Noting the sigils and wards here and there, despite their being so carefully blended in with the artwork and assorted biker paraphernalia.

He pretty obviously noticed them and recognized them.

And even nodded at that.

"Jahi." He said then, having satisfied himself he could speak that name here without drawing the attention of one and the same. "Jahi and her whole band. I want you to tell me what you know, Mr. Jones."

Dusty snorted again, amused now, for pretty much the first time since this government agent fellah got here. And, yeah, he'd hadn't failed to notice the guy had shown no kind of identification yet. Obviously government but the sort that didn't flash ID around, it looked like.

"Seems like you know a few things, Mr. Agent Reed." Dusty said. "But _that _you _don't _want to know. You don't want no part of that."

Reed smiled again. The smirking smile.

"I'm sorry." He said. "I suppose I wasn't very clear. I _already _know, Mr. Jones. I'm asking what _you _know."

"Then that don't answer my question." Dusty snapped back. "What are you here for?"

Reed pulled his PADD from his pocket, as quick and smooth as if he were drawing his gun.

"We'll let you go first." He said, still looking at the PADD. Looking at it and tapping a button. "You have one minute to impress me."

"Or what?" Dusty challenged, right off.

"Or I make you angry, run off like a scared little girl and come back later when you're weak." Reed said. "_Then _we take you into custody. That'll get bloody inconvenient fairly quickly, Mr. Jones. Forty-seven seconds now."

Dusty took a second thinking that over.

Five seconds, actually. He thought it over pretty cautiously.

"There's two prisons for demons." He said, finally. "The bottomless pit's one of 'em. That's the eternal, maximum security prison for the very _worst _demons. Ain't no getting out of that. Ain't no getting in neither, unless whoever's got the key puts you in there. God Himself, I reckon, but there really ain't no tellin'."

"The other prison?" Reed asked. "Thirty-five seconds."

"The other prison's what you call hell. Tartarus, more specific. That's sort of minimum security. Sometimes demons get released after a certain time, like a thousand years for instance. Sometimes they break out, sometimes they get summoned out."

"What's the difference between the two? Twenty-seven seconds."

"We can send 'em back to hell or toss out into space or lock 'em up for a while in a trap. Not the pit, though. Can't send 'em to the pit or summon 'em out of there. No way to do that. Well..._theoretically _possible, but nobody's ever actually done it."

Dusty stopped there.

And Reed glanced up after a moment from the PADD, when it was obvious he wasn't going to continue.

"Eighteen seconds." He said, reminding him.

Dusty scowled again.

So, guess that wasn't impressive enough.

"Jahi and her band all got out of hell." Dusty said. "Except Eisheth, she never went in. She's been playing it fairly smart since Jahi got tossed in there. Jahi did her time and she got let out, though. Lilina and Lamia got _summoned _out. And since they're all succubi, you can figure how Lilina and Lamia are still runnin' around. They did their summoners to death, 'cause that's what succubi do. Now they all got together again and they aim to open a door to the pit."

"Why?" Reed asked, eyes still on the PADD. "Four seconds."

"Cause they figure that'd be fun." Dusty said, simply.

Reed nodded agreement with all that and tapped the PADD with his thumb.

"Time." He said, approvingly. "That's good, Mr. Jones. I'm almost impressed. Let's go into overtime. How are they going to do the impossible and open the bottomless pit? Thirty seconds."

He thumbed at his PADD again.

Dusty scowled.

"Some demon technique they use on little babies." He said, glaring. "Feed 'em demon blood at six months and kill their parents. Come back when they're older, get 'em hooked on the blood. Then, while they're high on the stuff, they're technically half demon, sort of. Useful for all kinds of things demons can't normally do. Or don't want to do. Or maybe just scared to do."

"Like open the pit, for instance." Reed suggested, helpfully. "Seventeen seconds."

"Yeah. You trap an archangel and a demon bleeds 'em. Same time, you gotta sacrifice _other _demons at certain points to form a specific Enochian symbol. So you make these demon blooded humans do all that instead of you or your demon buddies. Get one of them to cut or kill the archangel for the blood, sacrifice three others at the points on the symbol."

Murphy glanced over politely after a couple of seconds went by with nothing further from Dusty.

"Nine seconds." He said.

Dusty growled.

"Depending on how _big _a gate you want to open," He said. "That's how far off you make them other sacrifices at those points. In this case they're way off on Vulcan, Andoria and Tellar, so the gates gonna be pretty damned big. Like the whole planet Earth. Maybe the whole damned system..."

"Time." Reed said.

And grinned, pleased.

"That's very good, Mr. Jones." Reed said. "I really am impressed."

"Well, pardon me while I piss myself." Dusty grumped. "Now it's your turn. What are you here for?"

"I'm here for Charles Tucker."

Dusty squinted at that, because...that didn't make no sense.

"Tucker's gone rogue. _Everybody's _looking for him." He said. "I don't know where he is. If I did, I'd be there kickin' his ass myself right now."

"Right." Reed nodded, seriously. "He did a favor for Dr. Emory Erickson a few years ago, something about a transporter accident? Some sort of evil doppelganger? He called _in _that favor, got himself transported just about all over the planet..._murdered _a few people...and now my sources tell me he's working for Jahi."

Dusty stiffened up at that.

"Crap," He said, firmly. "Ain't no way."

Reed shrugged. "Doesn't really matter. That's not the Charles Tucker I'm looking for."

Dusty blinked at that, surprised.

"The hell?" He said, shocked. "You mean _Trip? _What'cha lookin' for him for? He's a civilian. He doesn't even know anything. He's at that Starfleet school in California anyhow."

"Well, now." Reed frowned, disapprovingly. "If you hadn't just impressed me so much I might believe that."

Dusty just looked confused.

"How you're trying to convince me Trip's just a civilian and hasn't anything to do with all of this." Reed explained. "Instead of being one of those half-demon blood swilling sorts."

Dusty stiffened up.

"So I want him and you're going to give him to me, Mr. Jones."

He shrugged. "That's not gonna happen."

Reed smiled politely.

"Are you certain about that?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty damned certain."

Reed frowned regretfully. And nodded.

"Then I'm afraid you're under arrest."

"For the hell what?" Dusty demanded.

Reed shrugged. "For whatever. Does it matter? Now...you've got a choice, Mr. Jones. You can go berserk..."

He reached and pulled a phase pistol from inside his coat.

"...or you can fall down when I stun you. Either way, you're under arrest and I'm taking you into custody."

Dusty thought it over.

For about half a second.

Then he scowled, a mild shiver running through his body. His teeth chattered for just the slightest moment.

"Or I can just walk right on out of here." Dusty said, growling madly.

Reed aimed the phase pistol without hesitation, firing directly into his chest.

It was already too late and it had absolutely no effect whatsoever...beyond aiding Dusty in reaching his full fury more quickly and easily.

He huffed loudly, his face already swelling and turning red. Twisted grotesquely, horribly. His second quick breath immediately after...howling madly, his body already surging with impossible, inhuman power.

Agent Reed just shrugged at him.

"Very well, Mr. Jones." He said. "I suppose I can't stop you."

He turned and simply stepped out the open garage door, leaving Dusty to his third and final quick, deep breath. Already at critical rage and striding forward, right behind him.

Slapping the _Aerosport _double-ought six out of his way, sending it flying into...and _through_...the wall of the garage.

Rushing out with one bounding leap into the yard, like the culmination of every blood-crazed, murderous monster of myth and legend, ready to run off into the night and disappear. And no matter how many weapons waited for him out there or what manner of obstacle might be thrown in his path, nothing would stop him from doing precisely that.

Nothing could harm him, nothing at all. He could, theoretically, survive a ground zero detonation of a spatial torpedo warhead.

Nothing could stop him, either. He could dig through a mountain with his bare hands. Again, theoretically. That had never actually been tested, of course, but there was plenty of evidence to support it.

He still didn't get very far at all, though.

He hit the two meter diameter plate laid out just outside the garage, while Agent Reed stood decidedly _out _of his path. A grav plate and inertia dampener combo that nudged him off his feet and cut every bit of his forward momentum instantly.

Leaving him hanging in mid air, howling with insane fury. Furious, murderous and floating a full meter off the ground, unable to reach, rend and tear his way through anything at all.

Reed watched carefully for a moment, just to be sure.

The man was completely impervious to just about everything at the moment and strong enough to bend duranium with his bare hands. In full rage, certainly, but this particular 'bare sark' was old enough and wise enough to still have a respectable measure of self control, even now.

Malcolm felt it wise to be sure he wasn't going to get his feet on the ground before taking his eyes off him. He might just make the cold decision to beat a certain 'urban panty waste' to death before making his escape. He _was _a berserker, after all.

Dusty glared down at him, already holding back the pointless howling and babbling. Teeth bared, snarling and homicidally outraged, but still cunning.

And ugly.

Berserkers were quite terrifyingly _ugly _when they raged.

Reed shook off a shudder at that, tearing his eyes away. Because, _bloody hell _that was intimidating.

He turned to meet the second agent coming up on his right side.

"Victor," Reed said. "We've got the area blocked off, I hope?"

"Yes, sir. All clear."

"Where is the rest of his gang now?"

"Still about six hours out, sir."

Reed nodded. "Alright, throw the curtain over him. Keep it out of his reach. No stimulus at all. Sound dampeners, light, temperate, nothing. Let me know the moment he calms down and goes limp."

"Yes, sir."

"And throw down some markers." Reed frowned. "No one gets close. I shouldn't have to say it, but I have, so it had best not happen."

* * *

In the hotel room in Gallup, New Mexico, T'Pol sat on her bed. Laptop open before her, all relevant material on hand for review there. She'd just called Katherine to put her mind at ease again, in as much as that was possible. Hannibal as well, in order to check on his progress there. They were still listed as persons of interest but his own impressive network of contacts and government employees that owed him favors were expected to minimize even that by tomorrow.

Dusty wasn't answering, though. Which was only a matter of passing concern, as he couldn't reasonably be expected to literally sleep with a comm under his pillow.

T'Pol disconnected, tapping her PADD and removing the remote comm from her ear to pocket it again.

Her PADD flashed a warning at her.

Looking at it again, her eyebrow arched in surprise and she went to work quickly. Authorizing intrusion countermeasures and giving that a moment to do its work, before calling up a report on the incident.

They hadn't been pinpointed yet and wouldn't be for several minutes, now that her own software was hard at work out there on the net. She flipped the PADD over then to snap the cover loose. Pulling out the battery, stopping the PADD from updating its position to the satellite communications system, then pulling out and replacing the signal card with one of the three spares waiting in a pocket inside the cover, prepared for just such an occasion.

Replacing the cover and the battery, waiting for the device to initialize before running yet another program to validate and confirm the PADD was clean and anonymous again.

Trip watched it all, brow furrowed.

"Tell me you weren't calling Dusty." He said.

"I was." T'Pol said, already tapping the PADD closed and pocketing it again. "I received no answer, although that is unsurprising now."

Trip's eyes narrowed as he sorted through all the implications quickly.

"Starfleet couldn't have tracked him down through us." He decided. "And I thought Hannibal said he nearly got us clear of that."

"He has." T'Pol said. "Logically, this is something else."

"Then it's local." He said. "Jahi and her friends have sicked the feds on us somehow."

"Apparently."

He huffed.

"And Hannibal didn't pick up on that? Isn't that his job? Tracking down all the pings put out on us and stepping on them? How much are you _paying _that guy?"

"He is quite reliable, Trip." T'Pol assured, looking over at him. "I'm confident he will investigate the matter and report his findings to me soon enough, perhaps even intervening there as well. And I pay him quite handsomely, hence my confidence."

Trip scowled, looking away. "This just keeps getting better and better."

T'Pol continued to watch him as he returned his attention to the laptop he was working with.

He was angry and disgusted, but much more than he should have been for this situation. And he quickly channeled that into even greater determination, focusing immediately on his work again, the 'demon arrows' project he'd decided to pursue.

He had expected to avail himself of Dusty's machine shop in order to produce at least a few of them while they were there. Were he thinking rationally and clearly, he would have immediately realized they would not now be going on to Dusty's and that he would therefore not have the opportunity or access to the materials required to produce the arrows he was working so hard on.

Further, it would have already occurred to him that they should discuss where they _were _to go next, if not to Dusty's. He would have brought that up and they would be talking about it now.

But he returned his attention fiercely to his project instead, as if it were still important and mattered at all.

T'Pol considered that. Considered him.

And made her decision.

She turned to face her laptop again, pulling it back into her lap in order to pretend to work there while she talked. To allow that to serve as a buffer of sorts, so that Trip would not feel confronted and be tempted to withdraw any further.

"My relationship with your father was already failing by the time you left." She said.

Letting her fingers wander aimlessly over the laptop controls, making themselves seem busy. She already had Trip's attention, though she could sense he was frowning at her.

"Just as I did not understand what he required from me," She said. "Or, perhaps, that I did not understand that he required _nothing _from me...he did not understand what I required. And, again, perhaps he simply did not care."

Trip sighed audibly. A frustrated sigh.

"Vulcan families are intimate with one another." T'Pol continued. "Not to a degree that most Humans would find notable, but nevertheless. Naturally, that is necessary behavior for practically all sentient species. Healthy behavior. So it is for my people and among us it is consigned entirely and rigidly to family and mates only. Because of this, I expected a more emotionally intimate relationship with your father, but he was either incapable or unwilling..."

"Do we really have to talk about this right now?" Trip grumbled.

"It is relevant." T'Pol assured. "Your father was either incapable or unwilling because he continued to hold on to the anger that he availed himself of after your mother's death. He held to this for many years. Two decades and counting now, in fact. That is why he has remained so consistently detached from everyone around him. This is the source of most of your own anger and resentment toward him. And so it is with me."

T'Pol stopped toying with the laptop, but she didn't turn to face him yet.

"Trip, you are following the same path." She said. "You are following in your father's footsteps. I do not agree with this course."

Trip was quiet for a while, saying nothing. And T'Pol allowed that, giving him time to think it over.

"I'm not going to talk about this." He said, eventually.

His voice was as cold and firm as she'd expected it would be.

"Very well." She nodded. "But you will consider what I have said. If you decide that it is wise for you to become your father, that is your decision. Following this, when we have dealt with Jahi, I will have nothing more to do with you. But if you decide to do otherwise and prepare yourself to let go of your anger and fear, once you are capable of that and the time has come for it, I will be here then. I will be with you and I will help you. That is what I would prefer."

T'Pol put her laptop aside, standing up from the bed to fetch her boots and begin putting them on.

Trip eyed her suspiciously and she could see he wanted to argue.

"That is all I have to say for now." She said, glancing back up at him. "I am leaving for a moment. I will return shortly..."

"That's a bad idea."

"I am going to get a cup of tea from the diner on the corner." She said. "I am confident I can accomplish that. I will take my time doing it, so that you have time to consider what I have said. When I return, we do not have to talk about it. That can wait until after Jahi has been dealt with."

She rose and walked to the door, raising her hand to tap the panel.

And paused.

"Trip," She said, over her shoulder. "If you follow me as you did before, that will effectively undermine the entire process. I am rested and I have meditated. It is not necessary. I will return shortly. Use this time to consider what I have said and we will discuss our plans for Jahi when I return."

She opened the door, walked through and closed it behind her.

He didn't follow her this time.


	31. And Called to Service

Dusty's hand trembled, but he managed to hold on to the glass the agent handed him.

Spilled a bit of it trying to take a sip, but he was too tired to care.

"Take your time." Reed said, politely. "Your mates won't be along for a few more hours."

Dusty gulped a bit of the whiskey before putting the glass down again, rattling it on the table top in the process. Then practically letting his hands fall limp at his sides. He really had spent just about all the strength he had just taking a drink.

He was pale and he trembled, barely keeping himself in his seat. Simply breathing was about all he could manage without a whole lot of effort.

Reed watched him, noting his incredible fatigue.

"It takes it out of you that badly every time?" He asked.

"Yeah." Dusty barely breathed.

"Hm." Reed nodded. "I can certainly see the upside but that's quite a nasty Achilles' heel you've got."

Dusty ignored that.

"Didn't know the gover'ment was in the huntin' business." Dusty said, with barely a glare.

Reed reached and pulled a chair up for himself, making himself comfortable and propping an arm up on the other side of the dining table.

And smirked, just a little. "Well, nothing new there, I'm afraid."

"How long?"

"About eight hundred years or so." Reed said, casually.

Dusty mustered the strength to raise his head and looked surprised at that.

"Bullcrap." Dusty huffed lightly. "Ain't no way."

Reed smirked. "I am counting Catholic Rome, of course. Technically a government of sorts, so that puts our history as a government agency back eight hundred years easily."

"That's who you're working for?"

"Well, we've branched out a bit since those days. Might be more accurate to say we've consolidated, really."

Dusty nodded tiredly. "Division Ten."

"Exactly right." Reed nodded. "We don't usually intervene directly. A little nudge here and there, clean up a few of your messes. A little hunting sometimes, if it's important enough and you chaps miss it. You might be interested to know that despite being a government agency, our jobs mostly consist of keeping government comfortably _out _of the process. Sadly enough, it's sometimes unavoidable. As it is now."

Dusty took a deep breath, just to gather enough strength to keep talking.

"Now you're here, in my living room." He breathed. "Might as well announce yourself all over the net. Every hunter in the sector's gonna hear about it now."

"Well." Reed said, thoughtfully. "That would be unfortunate. We're in a bit of a tough spot, though. Rather forced to hope you're more intelligent than that, Mr. Jones."

"My boys are gonna talk, I mean."

"We'll have a little talk with them first." Reed smirked. "In the meantime, let's you and I have a talk. Let's talk about how we're _not _going to let a ragtag band of succubi destroy the Earth."

Dusty nodded tiredly.

"Gotta stop the ritual."

Reed spread his hands, agreeing completely.

"Exactly." He said. "Stop the ritual. Several different ways to accomplish that. Some of them fairly difficult. Send Jahi and her harlots back to hell, for example. Lay hands to these demon bloods, for another. In fact, I imagine we'd really only need to stop one of those, wouldn't we?"

"Yeah." Dusty nodded.

Reed shrugged regretfully. "A problem there, though. Seems our associates out there, and yours as well...Vulcan, Andoria and Tellar...they don't seem to be doing very well with that. Maybe they're not quite as motivated as we are, considering where the pit is set to open up."

Dusty huffed again.

"Why you want Trip."

Reed spread his hands again, regretfully now. "Can't see an easier way to put a stop to this. Considering what's at stake, taking the simplest route from here to somewhere that Earth _doesn't _have a portal to the bottomless pit stuck to it...that seems the wisest course."

Dusty thought that over, and he didn't like what it suggested.

"If you're set on Trip, then I reckon that means Charles took the rest of 'em out."

"All but Bobby Palmer." Reed nodded. "And since we can't seem to find him, it's obvious what happened to him. Charles turned him over to Jahi and made a deal, for his son."

"Can't buy that." Dusty grumped.

"Regardless. That does seem to be the case."

"Then go after him. And go after Charles, while you're at it. What do you want with Trip?"

"That's why I'm here, Mr. Jones." He said. "I'm sure you've noticed the demon signs all over the place in the last two weeks. We're tracking one major ongoing incident outside of Tampa, Florida. Seems to be centered on an old abandoned salt mine out there."

Dusty's eyes flickered.

"You know the one, I take it." Reed smirked. "Just so happens to be the cite of a couple of Dr. Erickson's most recent unscheduled matter transporter tests. So that would be where Charles has Bobby stashed away. And that's where Jahi and her lot are right now, trying to get him out, as it seems the mine collapsed dramatically a day or two ago."

"Go on out there, then. What are you waiting for?" Dusty challenged.

"Just where we're headed next." Reed nodded. "And by 'we', I mean you and I. My team and your gang. We're all going, and we're going to do our very best to send Jahi and her lot back to hell when we get there. Trouble is, we might not get there in time. Or we might not banish all of them. Or any number of things. Which calls to mind our wild card here, Trip Tucker."

Dusty stiffened up again, jaw clenched. And he was starting to get his strength back again, so he could even glare very harshly on top of that.

"You lot seem to like making deals." Reed observed. "So let's make a deal, Mr. Jones. You give me Trip Tucker and I put him in a nice, safe place for a few days. Comfortable bed, room service, full internet access. You and your boys go with me and my team over to Florida and kill some demons. Or...I put you and your biker gang in zero gravity for a few days and we're forced to just hope things don't go badly. Bobby dying at the mine and Jahi running off to find Trip before _we_ can, for example."

* * *

T'Pol entered the diner, finding herself suddenly reminded of Utah. The hotel in Saint George, where she'd become emotional and fled to walk aimlessly in the attempt to collect herself again.

She'd contemplated precisely this at that time. Finding a public business of this general nature, entering and affording herself a corner booth somewhere. Drinking tea quietly in the corner, where she would not suffer being alone but without having to suffer direct interaction with anyone either.

That had seemed to offer her some form of peace at the time. And without thinking, she'd obviously sought that very thing again here, in this diner.

And she'd left her hat in the bug again. Unintentionally this time.

So all of the patrons in the diner, nearly half a dozen of them, including the waitress and the cook...all of them stared in mild surprise when she entered. Almost immediately recognizing that she was Vulcan.

She paused for only a moment, as much as to allow them time to adjust to the unusual occurrence as to allow herself time to adjust to be stared at so rudely. They quickly returned to their own concerns, showing a proper Human aversion to rude behavior, so she approached the counter then to engage the waitress.

To her mild surprise, green tea was actually available here. And the waitress only stared for a short moment when she requested it as hot as possible.

T'Pol took her tea, paying with a credit account under an alternate identity to avoid the purchase being tracked and took a seat in the corner booth.

And she relaxed, waiting for the tea to cool to roughly 42 degrees Celsius before taking her first sip. Sitting and considering the situation with Trip. Not the demons, not Jahi and not the looming threat of a doorway to the pit being thrown open. Because, as irrational and illogical as it may be, he was more important to her at the moment than any of those things.

Getting absolutely nowhere in those contemplations because...

She immediately suffered the sudden, unexpected realization that her blood fever...had utterly abated.

Even before fully peaking, as far as she'd been aware...it was simply, suddenly gone.

She didn't lurch forward at that insight, as she otherwise would have. Nor was she tempted to panic by it, as she would have been before today, entirely because the blood fever had undermined her disciplines so subtly and thoroughly.

She hadn't noticed, and obviously that realization had been waiting quietly until a moment such as this presented itself, so that it could occur to her.

She was not entirely centered yet, of course, nor fully recovered...she was still somewhat emotional, but nothing near the madness she'd displayed over the last few days. Looking back now, with a much clearer head, it was near painfully evident how irrationally, illogically and frankly _emotionally _she'd reacted to a great number of things recently.

As she did now, to a lesser degree, when the logical conclusion occurred as to how this was so.

She'd fought and violently vanquished two demons in the parking lot of the Starfleet Cadet Compound. And broken into the compound to cut a path of destruction directly to Trip's dorm room.

And there, violently confronted, and incidentally slain, a virtual rival...

T'Pol replaced the cup of tea she'd picked up, seeking that first sip, back on to the table before her. Putting it back, untasted, lest she spill it now.

Because her hand trembled, even causing the cup to rattle loudly against the ceramic saucer waiting to support it.

It was a terrible thought. A deeply disturbing thought.

But it was not logical to deny it. She'd seen Tali as a rival at that moment and had intended to confront her. Laying hands to her violently already in order to do so. The entire incident, from the parking lot to that moment, when Tali had died, all of it serving to bring her hormonal imbalance to peak and promptly burning through the excess, bringing her back into balance again.

At least somewhat. She may be a day or two still before fully recovering...

T'Pol almost startled then, suddenly noticing the man standing nearby, looking over at her.

And not at her specifically, but at the tea cup that had just rattled so obviously when she'd set it down.

She looked backed over at him...and was all the more surprised.

_"Excuse my intrusion." _He said, evenly. In perfect Golic Vulcan. _"I perceive that you are disturbed."_

To her credit, T'Pol stared in shock for only a short moment. It was required under the circumstances in order to assess, confirm and accept that an elderly male Vulcan was actually standing in a diner in New Mexico, talking to her.

He even wore the formal robes of an elder, his hair peppered with gray and his affect perfectly emotionless.

A very unusual sight to say the least, all things considered.

_"I am prepared to offer what assistance I able to, if you would find it helpful." _He said, flatly.

T'Pol mulled that over for a moment.

Then answered, in English Standard, as that was far more appropriate for a diner filled with Humans in New Mexico. The fact that her disturbance had been noted and was now under discussion being humiliating...that was irrelevant. She would not allow herself to experience humiliation, of course.

"I acknowledge that I am somewhat uncentered and disturbed." She said, in English. "I will regain mastery of myself in a moment. I appreciate your concern and apologize. My behavior is inappropriate and I regret any offense."

The elder man stared without any reaction to that at all.

For nearly three seconds.

_"Your behavior is inappropriate," _He said, suddenly. In Vulcan still. _"As are your apology and the assumption of offense on my part. Your accusation that I experience concern as well. All of these things indicate a deeper disturbance than the trembling of the cup. Perhaps even fundamental flaws in your logic."_

T'Pol sat back comfortably in the booth at that, reassessing the elder.

Before offering her rebuttal.

"Not at all, considering our current environment." She said. "Here, on Earth, recognition of the likelihood of provoking offense and offering an apology to assuage that is very logically valued as an effective avoidance of unnecessary conflict. It is therefore appropriate behavior here. Acknowledging your concern is also entirely logical, as you clearly evidence concern. That emotion obviously motivated you to intervene and offer assistance to the Vulcan you perceived as disturbed."

_"I am not Human," _He argued, calmly. "_And so the assumption of offense in both instances, in stating it assumptively and subsequently offering apology for it, constitutes insult. And again when you all the more clearly accuse me of emotion."_

"Yet there are Humans present here, witnessing this exchange." T'Pol pointed out. "Displaying a proper observance of Human custom provides the opportunity to show our people to be adaptable, as they are, and therefore less alien in nature. This benefits the acceptance of our people at a time when we are losing that here. And that due in no small part to our refusal to show that we are adaptable, expecting instead that emotional Humans adapt their behavior to conform to us. Furthermore, whether I offer insult or not, especially as it was clearly unintentional in even the worst reasonable case here...that would remain irrelevant. There is no offense where none is taken. If it needs be said, I did indeed assume you to be beyond offense."

The elder considered her intensely then. For long enough that it might well have been inappropriate itself, had he not already established that he sought to intervene in her own disturbing misbehavior.

_"You acknowledge emotion as a motivating factor for behavior." _He recognized, finally.

"I acknowledge emotion as the primary motivating factor for all manner of sentient functionality."

_"Even among Vulcans."_

"In Vulcans especially, if far more indirectly."

He paused at that, assessing her yet again. And yet again, with far too much intensity for comfort, were she so easily discomfited.

_"You are very young." _He observed. _"It is rare to encounter this wisdom in one who is not at least an elder."_

"I have lived on Earth for more than two decades now, among Humans." She explained. "I have had ample opportunity to develop insights into the necessity of emotion. This should not indicate that I am especially wise, but rather that I have benefited from an environment that few other Vulcans have."

_"I question whether it has been entirely beneficial, considering your current disturbance."_

"I did not intend to imply that it has been."

_"Then I find my assistance all the more logical to offer now." _The man said. _"Honorable, in fact, as it presents a rare and compelling opportunity to support one among our people with such great potential."_

That was gratifying, of course.

But one particular point continued to concern her.

"It is more appropriate to speak English Standard here." She noted. "I am curious why you refuse."

_"I do not speak that language." _The man answered.

"Yet I am speaking it. How is it that you understand? I see no translator in evidence."

_"Yes, I have come here alone. No translator is necessary."_

T'Pol paused at that.

It was a decidedly odd response. The most logical explanation for it being that the man had assumed she meant an actual, living translator. Someone standing beside him who spoke both Vulcan and English Standard literally translating.

And, of course, there was his claim that a translator of any sort was unnecessary to understand a language he'd just confirmed he did not understand.

T'Pol stood up from the booth, to face the elder squarely. Less that two meters away.

"I am T'Pol." She said. "Who are you?"

_"I am Tomok, T'Pol."_

T'Pol suppressed the mild shock the recognition of that name struck in her. Because, of course, that could easily be coincidence...

"My maternal forefather's name was Tomok. That is curious."

_"I am he, of course."_

"My forefather is deceased."

_"Indeed, that is so."_

T'Pol turned smoothly and quickly, retrieving the salt dispenser from the table behind her. Clenching the glass shaker in her hand until it broke and fractured. Shifting that slightly in her palm until the salt pooled there and flinging her hand forward, scattering the loose salt and broken shaker directly into the spirit. All in barely a moment.

It bounced off, all of it. At least, those bits that didn't lodge in the folds of his robe.

So she stared at that, intrigued.

Tomok reached casually to brush away the debris she'd peppered him with, eyebrow raised to properly acknowledge the very questionable behavior.

T'Pol responding with an eyebrow of her own, indicating his own unusual behavior in not being dispelled by the salt.

And she reached out, without delay, poking one finger boldly into his chest. Confirming that he was, in fact, quite solid.

"You are corporeal." She observed.

_"In a manner of speaking." _He acknowledged.

"How are you here?"

_"I am here to deliver a message."_

T'Pol ticked the eyebrow slightly higher at that.

"That is why, not how."

_"But that is the question you meant to ask."_

T'Pol considered that.

"What is the message?" She asked.

_"It is here." _He said, raising his hand to present it to her, palm open.

And, no, she would certainly not touch this man's hand. Never mind the public venue entirely. She would touch a stranger's hand intentionally in no setting whatsoever.

"I do not know you." She said, disapprovingly.

_"You do, of course."_

That was all the prompting she needed to realize...she _did _know this man. She _sensed _him.

Sensed the bond. The _family _bond. A bond she had not felt in over two decades, having enjoyed the support of no form of bond at all in just as long.

So she stepped back, despite herself, eyes slightly wider now, until she impacted the table behind her with a slight bump.

_"Be calm, daughter." _The man said, evenly and emotionlessly. Comfortingly.

T'Pol stared, still somewhat wide-eyed. Stared and sought some explanation that made sense.

Until the more relevant point occurred to her here.

She steeled herself then, calming herself. Recognizing and accepting the obvious.

"It is the same joke again, isn't it?"

_"What do you mean?"_

"You are here to shame me." She said, quietly.

His eyebrow fairly popped up at that.

_"Not at all." _He denied. _"I am here to deliver a message, as I have said. What shame do you allow yourself to suffer?"_

"It is...not relevant."

_"If you allow emotion to rule you then you force its relevance to all things."_

T'Pol paused, suppressing the desire to sigh and speak sadly. Then answered.

"I have done many shameful things." She said. "Exhibited multiple instances of remarkably poor judgment and caused significant, unnecessary harm to those I am closely affiliated with."

Tomok considered that, long enough to be proper, before answering it.

_"T'Pol, daughter of my daughter," _He said. "_In coming here I have been made aware of much of what you have done. I am aware of most of the things you likely refer to. I am aware also of all that you do not consider now. You have been foolish, and selfish, and lustful. Also brave, self-sacrificing and logical. You have harmed others and saved many lives. You have been both a positive force and a negative. Over all, I find you agreeable and I am honored that you have proceeded from my clan and my line. Much more so than most others who have."_

T'Pol stared, astonished. Unable even to muster the conviction to _stop _doing that entirely inappropriate thing.

_"You have become a great warrior." _Tomok said. _"I can only hope that you continue to do as you do now, at the least. This is why I am here, so that I may be honored and blessed to have participated in that, even to this small degree."_

T'Pol struggled and finally, after much struggle, collected herself again. Regained mastery, found her center, summoned her disciplines again.

And nodded properly.

"That is gratifying." She said, evenly. "Concerning the message you are here to deliver, who has sent it?"

"Sophia."

T'Pol quirked a brow at that. "That is a Human name. I am unfamiliar with it."

_"But you know the one who takes that name."_

She absorbed that utter failure to illuminate the matter and simply nodded.

"Very well." She said. "Proceed."

Extending her hand to his then, comfortably. Touching her open hand to that of her mother's father, a man of her own line.

And receiving the message clearly.

The request, in fact, and the instruction.

Taking a deep breath immediately thereafter, as that was necessary to aid in the suppression of all that it provoked in her. Taking her hand away again to respond.

"I understand." She said. "However, I find that course of action to be extremely irresponsible. I must question the logic of Sophia's instructions."

_"An anticipated reaction." _Tomok said. "_I received instruction as well, concerning that. I am to remind you that you are called to trust."_

T'Pol took another breath.

"Why am I required to do this?"

_"It is not required. It is requested. It is not necessary and the matter itself will be dealt with regardless, whether you obey or refuse."_

T'Pol understood instantly.

"The angels intend to intervene." She said.

_"Of course."_

"Then why should I do this? If it is not necessary, why should I?"

_"For the same reasons that I have come here." _Tomok said. "_The message would have arrived even if I refused. You would have received it regardless, but the offer was made to me so that I might be blessed. That is why I accepted and complied."_

"And what of Trip?"

_"He will obviously benefit, of course."_

T'Pol thought that over, anxiously.

_"Cast out fear, daughter." _Tomok advised. "_There is room for nothing else until you cast out fear. Consider the logic of this."_

T'Pol let out the breath she was holding.

And let go her fear.

"Very well." She said, calmly. "I understand and I will comply."

Tomok nodded appropriately.

And moved to depart, as it was logical to do so. He had, after all, completed his assignment here.

_"Live long and prosper, daughter."_

_"You honor me, forefather."_

And he departed, turning away and leaving the diner, out into the street and quickly gone even from there.


	32. Tactical Repositioning

T'Pol returned the cup of tea to the waitress at the counter, still having tasted none of it. It was a small courtesy, saving her the negligible trouble of clearing the dish herself in the course of her duties.

The woman would already be forced to sweep salt and glass from the floor as it was, so it seemed appropriate.

She thanked the waitress for her service and hospitality, paid for the tea she hadn't drank and the salt shaker that she'd broken. And she took a moment to assure both the waitress and the cook that the man had indeed been her grandfather, as they had assumed, and that he had not been behaving inappropriately toward her, as they had feared.

And she was forced to leave abruptly soon after, before she could find herself entangled here. As she had noted to Trip days ago, certain areas of North America were almost uncomfortably accepting of and even fascinated with extraterrestrials. Apparently Gallup, New Mexico, was one of them.

The curious incident had served to provoke the curiosity of every Human in the diner, concerning both the incident and her personally. She suddenly found herself embroiled in an overly familiar attempt to satisfy that curiosity with all six of the Humans, all at once, which quickly proved uncomfortable.

And she had something very important to see to now, that should not be delayed.

In leaving the diner, as politely as she was able, she did not allow herself to be entirely put off guard. While the blatant divine intervention her deceased forefather's appearance suggested had put her somewhat at ease, she remained cognizant of her surroundings, should a threat appear to challenge her.

And as it happened, she reached the hotel and the room she shared with Trip without incident and was grateful enough for that.

But being on guard nonetheless, when she entered the room and Trip tossed a full vial of holy water into her face, her hand reached and found the grip of her phase pistol before she was fully aware that it was he that had attacked her. And that his attack consisted of nothing more than drenching her face and the front of her shirt with water.

She stared for a short moment, in between blinking holy water from her eyes. And she double checked everything that had just happened, just to be certain, before releasing the phase pistol and wiping at her face.

And calmly reminding him.

"Trip," She said, evenly. "I am sealed against possession, just as you are."

"Sorry." He said, smiling slightly. "Jahi's one of the big dogs, from what I'm reading about her, and I ain't one hundred percent sure our tattoos will keep her out."

T'Pol considered that easily and found his behavior logical enough. His mild amusement at her current state was, of course, not.

"That is understandable then." She conceded.

And since she couldn't correct him on that point, she found something else to correct him on.

"And your use of 'ain't' is inappropriate." She added.

"Well, I'm Human." He argued, immediately. "That means I get to abuse English Standard."

She arched an eyebrow at that illogical claim.

"I am not afforded that privilege?" She argued, before she could come up with a better argument. As she certainly should have.

"Only when you cover your ears." He said, smirking. "In fact, if you put that cowboy hat of yours on and say 'ain't' inappropriately in a sentence yourself, while you're wearing those blue jeans and those boots...well, that would just make my day. I might swoon."

She practically twitched at that, suddenly aware of the nature of the conversation that they were having out of nowhere.

And not only at her own very comfortably illogical responses so far, but the behavior that he had displayed himself in the course of it.

He was not _entirely _mirthful and flirtatious, but it was unmistakable. Still visibly pained and saddened, but nonetheless at least attempting to simulate some form of agreeable behavior. Trying, quite obviously, to minimize the outward appearance of the internal trauma and grief he suffered.

That was remarkable.

"I...will try to remember that." She said, somewhat off balance. "I wouldn't want to be the cause of your...swooning."

"Can't say I'd mind." He said, again with the barest hint of playfulness. "Let me get you a towel, then you can hear what I've got from Dusty."

That brought her sharply into focus, so that she followed behind him as he veered off for the bathroom and the promised towel.

"You've heard from him?"

"Sort of." He said, over his shoulder. "Sent me an encrypted text right after you left."

"Concerning what?"

"Just about everything." He said, already standing in the bathroom, reaching behind the door, up on the rack, for the towel. Handing it over to her right away.

"I've got the names of all four of the succubi behind all this." He said, as she took the towel and wiped herself absently. "And the Enochian symbol, that planetary alignment? How that fits into the whole thing and why that means the door to the pit is going to take up the whole Earth and maybe more. And Dad's missing again and Bobby Palmer's alive, trapped in a salt mine in Florida, where all four succubi are busy trying to get to him as we speak. Dusty's on his way there right now, with the whole gang."

T'Pol busily absorbed all of that, sorting through the relevance and collating everything efficiently...

"Oh." Trip said, as an afterthought. "I've got the ritual they're going to use, too, and why they want the people on that list, Bobby in particular it looks like..."

"Why?" T'Pol asked, instantly.

"That's what opens up the pit, like we figured." He said. "But they have to capture an archangel and a demon has to kill it or at least bleed it. That's the key to the whole thing. And since that means the whole heavenly host will come running to cut them to pieces, they mean to get a Human drunk on demon blood..."

"So they can do so in their stead," T'Pol guessed. "And not be perceived as a demon attack while still fulfilling the requirement for the ritual. Do they truly expect the angels will not notice this?"

"Jahi sure seems to think so." He nodded. "Same thing with the sacrifices, by the way. Mark them as babies, come back when they're grown and trick them or lie to them. Then get them drunk on demon blood and just kill them, because the ritual requires three demons to be sacrificed and those demons would be banished as a result. They'd miss the party, so nobody wants to volunteer for that."

T'Pol frowned slightly.

"I am surprised at the lack of personal commitment displayed by the demons involved." She said.

Trip squinted, looking at her oddly.

"I was being sarcastic." She explained.

"Oh. Right, yeah." He snorted.

He walked around her then, over to the bed, taking and offering her the laptop he'd been working on earlier.

"I copied Dusty's text to your laptop, but take a look at this first." He said.

She looked, tossing the towel over her shoulder to hold the laptop with both hands.

Weather patterns, with flags dotting the map along with that, denoting incidents of demonic omens.

Trip had been quite busy while she was gone, it seemed. In fact, she took the opportunity to assess that, quickly concluding that her last interaction with him must have provoked some measure of critical thinking on his part. It would appear he'd reevaluated his own behavior and made the appropriate adjustments.

Both gratifying and encouraging. She had very difficult things to ask of him soon and they would require trust on his part. Things better served with a clear head and a rational mind.

The information on the laptop, though, that was obvious enough. There were signs clustered in Florida, in and around Tampa. Presumably Jahi and perhaps others as well, at that salt mine Trip had mentioned. Also in Nevada, near Las Vegas, which came as no surprise as they'd encountered that particular demonic activity themselves...

And, on second look, T'Pol realized there were other omens noted there as well. Omens not associated with demonic activity, but rather the opposite.

"Trip," She said, noticing that. "Near Las Vegas..."

"Right, you see that?" Trip said, grimly. "Not only demonic signs but angelic as well. So I'm guessing the two sides are finally starting to throw down a little over this. Still, it's looking like dad was right, though. It's too little too late. They're hardly mobilizing in force to put a stop to it or anything. I almost can't believe that. It's a little weird."

T'Pol considered the display before her, troubled by something else entirely.

"This may also indicate the capture of the archangel the ritual requires, Trip." She said. "Seeing signs of both in the same area, that certainly suggests conflict, but..."

"Oh. Damn." He said, immediately. "I didn't even think of that. Yeah, of course. They've probably already got their archangel now, and they pulled it off without siccing the whole host on them. How the hell did they do that?"

"I can't say, but it seems it is irrelevant at the moment." She said. "Obviously we do not have the time left to us that we assumed we did. We must act quickly..."

"Yeah." Trip interrupted. "So, the way I figure it, Dusty and the guys have Florida covered and we're too far behind to catch up with them anyway. We're doubling back to Nevada then, to see if we can track down that angel."

T'Pol hesitated at that, forced to watch him turn away to begin gathering his things.

Until he noticed she hadn't moved yet. And frowned at her.

"Come on, we've got to get going." He said. "And besides, those feds Jahi got after us could be headed this way, for all we know."

T'Pol hesitated still, unprepared for what was apparently already required of her here. And she found herself surprisingly reluctant to stand firm and take control of things, rather than follow him as he clearly expected her to.

"Trip," She said, carefully. "We are not going to Nevada."

He stood back up from where he'd crouched, backpack in his hand now, looking her over speculatively. Until he realized she was serious and just how much so.

"What do you mean?" He asked, frowning. "Where else? We aren't going to be able to make it to Florida in time..."

"We are going to Wyoming."

He blinked at that.

"Wyoming?" He demanded, suddenly tense. "T'Pol, we've got to track that angel down. Without them, Jahi can't perform the ritual. They've only got one night to pull it off as big as they want to..."

"We are going to Devil's Tower in Wyoming, Trip." She said, more firmly now. "That is where we are going."

He stared over at her.

Then he got angry.

"Okay, why?" He demanded, throwing the backpack down on the bed roughly. "What are you not telling me?"

So, yes. He was angry, and suddenly at that.

She took a deep breath, preparing herself...

But not quickly enough for Trip's liking, it would seem.

"What?" He demanded, angrily. "You've been keeping a lot of goddamned secrets, T'Pol. I'm just about sick of it..."

"Excuse me?" She asked, surprised again.

"Secrets, damn it." He snapped. "I'm good and tired of something new and traumatic popping out of your damned mouth every time you..."

"Trip." She snapped back, firmly. Glaring imperiously at him herself now. "You will not speak to me in that manner."

That gave him pause and he startled a little at that.

So she pressed ahead, before he could recover and do so himself.

"I understand you are emotionally troubled at the moment, but you will not take that out on me." She said. "I am prepared to help you, but not to be abused. So you will calm yourself, so that we can discuss this rationally..."

"Wait." He said, holding up one hand.

And he did not appear to be preparing to speak harshly again, so she waited.

Ready to defend herself if he did, but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt for now.

"Okay," He said then, quietly and evenly. "I'm sorry."

And that was curious, that he'd collected himself that easily.

"I just...I'm...having a hard time right now..."

"I understand, of course." She said.

Trip looked away, down at the floor, hands on his hips now. Brow tight and frowning, but more at his own behavior than at her.

He took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry anyway. I'm...doing the best I can here, T'Pol..."

"As I said, I do understand." She assured, calmly. "But I will also not be treated in that manner by you. I want you to understand as well, that this is entirely because I have significant affection and respect for you, Trip, and so that behavior is more difficult for me to disregard."

Trip nodded light, still looking away, adjusting himself to the situation. He _had _been focused and even evidenced casual confidence up until now. False confidence, of course, to hide his anger and determination. And guilt, she imagined.

That had burned through the moment she challenged him for control. And she'd shamed and confused him when she stood firm, calling him out on his behavior.

It was a bit much for him to experience all at once, she supposed, especially considering his already fragile emotional state. So that he might be off balance, anxious and uncertain was perfectly understandable.

Except that he suddenly wasn't. He was looking at her oddly, his struggle apparently already overshadowed...

"Okay..." He said, suspiciously. "What's going on here, T'Pol?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I know I'm a little hinky right now, but I'm just trying to get through...you know, just...well, I think I've got good reason to be a little off right now. But you're _logical _all of a damned sudden. I haven't seen that in...hell, since I left, come to think of it. So what's going on?"

T'Pol hesitated again.

"Don't get me wrong," He added, quickly. "That's great. I guess it's the reason we're not having a big fight right now, in fact. But, still. What the hell?"

So she spoke carefully and clearly to that.

"Trip, you are correct in what you've said." She answered. "I have kept secrets from you and there have been things you did not know or understand, that I have since revealed to you. All of these things were of a personal nature, however. Now there is another matter that I would simply not prefer to address at the moment. I believe it would be better served to discuss that at a later time, when you are more emotionally centered."

He frowned at that, even a little suspiciously, but he nodded.

"Alright." He conceded, waiting for her to continue.

"Also, I am aware that the ritual is to take place atop Devil's Tower in Wyoming." She said.

His eyes lit up with question immediately, but she pressed on.

"I would prefer not to discuss how I know this yet." She said, pointedly. "I admit this to you openly now because I will not be deceitful or dishonest with you concerning it. I ask instead that you simply trust me, with the assurance that I will explain everything to you when I feel you are able to consider it objectively. Can you accept that?"

He thought that over, and for an uncomfortable amount of time.

"Tell me what's changed with you." He said. "Or is that something you'd prefer not to discuss, too?"

She nodded, bracing herself.

"I am prepared to explain that." She said, "But it will be emotionally disturbing to you when I do. It will come between us, and I believe illogically so. Are you certain that you want me to?"

Trip stared at her.

And despite the mild emotional whirlwind he'd just suffered, he was admirably reticent now. Clearly suppressing and controlling his reactions, perhaps even following her own example in grasping and holding to reason and rationality.

Ironically, T'Pol found _herself _almost unbalanced by everything that had happened since she'd entered the room. It was not entirely unthinkable that Trip might actually be more centered and more in control of himself at that moment than she was, but it was still a little surprising.

"Alright," Trip said, evenly. "Tell me."

Still she hesitated, though. It was...a disturbing revelation. One she was certain he would react emotionally again to. Very likely suffering a significant outburst or, worse, even forcing him to withdraw again.

So she steeled herself. And hesitated still.

"T'Pol." He said, firmly. "Give me _something _here."

She resigned herself to the situation. This was going to be very bad. And he would certainly hold it against her, however illogically. Yet another obstacle thrown down between them, as if all those that had been visited on them already were not enough.

Exactly what was _not _needed now.

"Trip," She said, tentatively. "My requirement has been satisfied. In Sausalito, it would seem, although I have only recognized that myself tonight, a short time ago."

His eyes flickered, already putting the pieces together...

So she spoke quickly, before he might seize on the worst possible assumption in an already rather devastating situation.

"I faced two demons in the parking lot, after you left." She said, pointing out _that _fact first. "Engaging them both in combat, defeating them both and exorcising them before..."

"Two?" He asked, apparently somewhat surprised.

"Yes, two of them. I was able..."

"At the same time?"

T'Pol hesitated slightly at that, but proceeded quickly, again in order to remain somewhat in control of his assumptions here.

"Yes, at the same time." She explained. "I was easily aroused to violence at that moment and it would seem that served me well there. I believe they were unprepared for the aggressive nature of my reaction..."

"_Damn_, darlin'." He chuffed. "Wish I'd seen that."

That...was, of course, somewhat gratifying, but...

"Then Tali." Trip guessed, jumping ahead.

And she paused again, because he'd already realized.

"Trip..." She said, trying to regain control of the matter, but finding herself uncertain what to say now.

"Alright, I get it." He frowned, before she could determine that. "We don't have to go into the details, if you don't want."

T'Pol stared, off balance yet again.

That...was not at all the reaction she'd expected.

Trip turned and sat down on the bed beside him, suddenly tired. And he sighed.

"Damn." He frowned. "The hits just keep on coming, don't they?"

T'Pol fidgeted a little. Still not as entirely logical as he probably assumed she was. As he'd perceived her to be. Her blood fever assuaged, certainly, but still recovering after all.

So she was a little lost here.

"Trip...you understand that I am responsible for Tali's death." She said, anxiously. "Not only this, but that it apparently served, at least in part to...satisfy the..."

"Yeah, I know, darlin'." He said, sadly. "I'm sorry."

T'Pol blinked a bit at that.

He..._what?_

"What are _you _sorry about?"

"Well, I mean, it's not _my _fault," He said. "But I'm still sorry it happened."

"Trip," She almost flailed. "What are _you _sorry for? She was your...girlfriend. I am the one responsible for her death, however incidentally. You should be angry and hateful toward me..."

"T'Pol." He said. Firmly, even sternly. "I was there. I remember what happened. I'm trying real hard _not _to deal with that right now, thanks, but Jahi set that up as much for you as she did me. Can you do me a favor and not go along with that sick game of hers?"

He saw easily enough that she wasn't following along. And she certainly wasn't. What he was saying made no sense.

He stood up, facing her. Frowning.

"T'Pol, she could have done that a hundred different ways, but she set the whole thing up, real carefully, to make sure _you're _the one who..."

He stopped at that, clearly unable to finish the point.

"And she probably put those demons outside just to set you off." He said, switching track. "So it wasn't just about me and messing with my head. She was messing with yours, too. So I say, joke's on her. She broke your _plak tow _before it even got all that bad. I bet that never even occurred to her. So screw her, then, and good for you."

He waited a moment, to be sure she at least got his point, if not quite internalizing it or agreeing with it yet. Then turned and snatched up his backpack again, tossing that onto his shoulder.

"You didn't kill Tali." He said, firmly. "_Jahi _did. And I'm gonna send that bitch back to hell for it. _We _are, if you're coming along."

T'Pol swallowed a little. A regretful concession to the emotional moment, but necessary.

"I am." She said, almost meekly.

"Good." He nodded. "So Wyoming? That's where they're going next, right?"

"It is." She nodded, more confidently already.

"Great. Let's go get her."

"Trip..." She said, uncertainly. "Excuse me, but I require clarity here. You are not angry with me? You do not hold me responsible...?"

"Jahi's responsible." He said. "What I hold _you _responsible for is coming with me to go kick her ass and send her back to hell, where she belongs. You with me on this?"

"I...yes, of course."

"Because I need you to be, T'Pol. There's no way I can do this without you."

"I am ready." She assured him.

"And...sorry, I guess...didn't mean to make it sound like I'm running the show and you're just backing me up. If anything, I'm helping _you _out, so...I mean, I really..."

"Trip, I understand." She said.

"Okay." He nodded, awkwardly. "So...let's go. I mean, if you're ready."

T'Pol nodded, stepping aside so that he could pass, making room for her to gather her own gear and prepare to depart.

He even helped, tossing a few loose items into her bag with her, until she was prepared and they stood together, looking to one another for confirmation.

They were ready. Remarkably enough, despite everything, they stood together still. Ready to go forth and face Jahi, to bring justice and to do what must be done here.

_Together_. That was the important point here.

And it was a powerful moment for her. Certainly more so than Trip could likely even imagine. So she had difficulty facing the door, ready to depart, rather than staring at him and reacting emotionally, as she so strongly desired.

It was a necessary concession to that emotion, what she did next. Illogical and probably not especially convenient, but fully necessary. He stepped aside, facing her, waiting for her to lead the way out of the room where she looked to the door still.

So she reached to grasp his arm beside her and leaned over quickly, kissing him on the cheek, before she strode forward.

A ridiculously emotional and entirely Human gesture. One certainly not appropriate to the situation even by Human standards, much less Vulcan.

But necessary. So she accepted whatever might result from that and led the way out of the room. Rather viciously suppressing her own reactions to what she'd just done. Tamping down the alarm and fear she'd stirred in herself. The panic and anxiety. All the wild and irrational concerns and projections that immediately sprang to mind, as consequence to her inappropriate behavior.

Until she was calm and confident again, mastering herself.

Glancing over at him as they walked across the parking lot to the cargo bug, to gauge his reaction.

Which...he didn't seem to be having. He simply glanced back and winked at her, even smiling slightly, before reaching the bug and opening the door for her in a gentlemanly manner.

So...

Very well, then.

She supposed...that was acceptable.


	33. Coming to Light

Bobby was thirsty.

Very thirsty. His mouth dry, his tongue swollen. He could _feel _it in his mouth. Dry and almost round, like a big, fat and very dry sausage.

He was weak. He was dizzy. Confused and tired. And angry.

He was very damned angry.

Angry at Charles Tucker for selling him out. Angry at the angel that had just _left _him here like that. Even angry at the demon that had taken Rachel. More now for having abandoned him as well than for having possessed his friend. Screw Rachel. Wherever she was right now, she wasn't trapped in the dark at the bottom of salt mine dying of thirst.

The whole world had just forgotten about him. Just left him here to die in probably one of the most horrible ways there were to die. It was only now _beginning _to get bad. The worst was yet to come, he knew. He'd be in hell tomorrow.

Then, just like the angel had said, _literally _in hell right after that probably.

It was dark in here and he had been afraid, just like she'd said. Not anymore, though. Now he was just tired and hurting and angry.

He'd gotten nauseous, just like she'd said he would. He'd thrown up a couple of times, dry heaving and not bringing up more than a little spittle.

Even that had dried up before he'd gotten desperate enough to seriously consider trying to suck it back up off the floor of the cage. It was already long since dried up and gone.

He'd even tried to cry a couple of times, just to have some relief. And maybe he managed it a little, but no actual tears had come. His eyes had barely gotten misty.

He'd been a hunter almost all his life. Ever since mom had died when he was a kid, dad had taken up all that occult stuff. Then when he'd summoned a demon that one time, to finally get some answers, he'd got his head ripped off instead. So Bobby had started hunting then.

He'd been pretty good at it. He'd killed a lot of very evil things. He'd _saved lives_, and that was the brutal point here. He'd saved lives, done good...and now everyone had just forgotten about him, like he didn't matter. Left here to die like a dog. _Worse _than a dog. People wouldn't even let a _dog _die like this...

When he first heard the grinding sound, he'd thought crazily that something was coming to get him. Something digging through the salt to come in here and get him. Maybe even something he'd killed once, come back to life to take revenge now that he was vulnerable like this.

It actually took a while, until it had moved close enough to the chamber that it seemed it might burst in on him at any moment...only then did it occur to him that someone might be digging down to him. That maybe he was about to be rescued, or maybe someone was actually just mining or something, and he'd have the _opportunity _to be rescued.

When the thing burst through the ceiling he almost cried with disappointment. It was small, just a cable drill. It barely poked a four centimeter hole in the ceiling when it breached the chamber. There'd probably be a big drill bit right behind it but that'd take a while getting down here. And even then, who knows how long before someone actually investigated the chamber, then discovered he was here and _then _sent someone down to him? That could be _hours_.

He was too angry and desperate even to be hopeful here. Not for more than a flashing moment, when the idea crossed his mind that he might really be rescued here. Then again when the cable drill popped through and let in just enough light that he could see the hole up there.

Just two very short moments of hope and relief, overshadowed and drowned immediately in the bitter hatred he was filled with now. Against everyone and everything, for leaving him to die like this.

If it was Charles up there, come to rescue him, he wouldn't forgive him. If it was Rachel or the demon, or even both, he wouldn't forgive them either. Even if it was every single person whose lives he'd saved and everyone who'd so much as benefited from all the horrors and all the violence he'd endured in his life...even then he wouldn't forgive them.

Once he was out of this cage and had a goddamned glass of water, he'd curse them all. No more Mr. Nice Guy. To hell with every one of them. To hell with everything and everyone.

The drill itself took forever to reach the chamber, moving slowly and carving out a perfect circular tunnel down to him. Just a couple of meters away from the cage, up on the ceiling. Very little salt escaped the vacuum systems of the thing but what little did manage it was thrown into the air in a fine powder...and that didn't help things one little bit. It just burned his eyes and his throat, hurting all the more. Making him all the more angry and vicious.

Eventually the tunnel was dug and something moved down the shaft toward him.

Bobby wasn't even afraid anymore. It didn't so much as occur to him that something might go wrong. That whoever was rescuing him might change their mind or that anything at all could happen to result in his not being rescued. He was too angry to even think such a thing. Of course he would be rescued here. He'd be taken out of this place, given something to drink, treated and cared for until he recovered.

And he was going to be meanest, nastiest son of a bitch to _everyone _the whole while. The very second he was on his feet again, he'd start making people pay. He'd make them all pay, and he'd make them pay _hard_.

None of the terrible things snaking their way through Bobby's mind stopped him from being a little surprised when a _person _appeared in the tunnel above though.

Appearing there, worming their way down, lowered on a cable into the chamber. Dangling there for just a moment to look around, the light on his helmet finding the cage quickly enough, with Bobby sitting there almost too weak to look back up at him.

"Got him." The guy said. "Lower me down, about another three meters."

And down he drifted, just like that. Down to the floor of the chamber to shrug off the harness and make his way over to the cage.

Bobby couldn't see the guy's face very much at first. All he could see what the bright light tormenting him. Shining in his eyes, much too brightly after being in the dark for so long. He almost _feel _that light burning his _brain_, it seemed to so impossibly bright...

But he held on and toughed it out. He didn't even beg for something to drink, like he wanted so much to do. He just held on and said nothing while the guy fumbled around, snaking the cable through the bars at the top of the cage.

Then he fumbled again, reaching to his waist to tap at comm there.

"Okay, got it." He said, shakily. "Reel him in."

And now Bobby could see...the guy was scared.

Not just scared, but practically hysterical. Fumbling around, wide-eyed, moving jerkily.

Staring at him...kind of desperately.

"Is...is there another way out of here?" The guy asked him.

Asking _him_, not talking into the comm.

And Bobby could only stare. Still angry and mean about it all, but a little confused now.

"Is there?" The guy asked again, pressing now.

Bobby tried to speak, forgetting for a moment how he wasn't going to do that. How he was going to sit there, saying nothing and letting his anger boil. He tried to talk, but he couldn't for a moment. He had to _try _a couple of times before he could manage it.

"Get...me out of here." Bobby rasped, bitterly.

The guy almost started hyperventilating.

"I'm not going back up there." The guy said. "I'm not..."

Then the cable finally started moving, reeling in again up the tunnel in the ceiling. Retracting until it took up the slack and the cage jerked.

The guy finally stopped staring at him like that, wide-eyed like he was crazy. He stepped to the side instead and starting pushing and shoving, keeping the cage from tipping over too much, enough that Bobby wouldn't fall on the spikes on the inside of the thing.

Until it was off the ground, swaying and rising up. Up toward the hole in the ceiling, where it bumped a bit before it oriented itself and started sliding into the tunnel.

Bobby managed to lean over just enough to get a last look at the guy, but he was just standing down there looking back up at him. His face hidden behind the light again, so that he couldn't see...

But he didn't really care. Let the idiot stay down here and die. Served him right.

* * *

It had been quiet in the cargo bug for a while now. Long enough that T'Pol was tempted to turn on the satellite music channel, something she would never in a million years do with anyone else in the bug to witness her do that. It was an emotional indulgence. A blatant, thoroughly perverse emotional indulgence.

One that she allowed herself every so often. When she was _alone_, with no one there to witness that.

But...it was Trip. And perhaps she could do that, just to break the extremely uncomfortable silence. He wouldn't mind and most likely would only tease her a little for it. She could endure that much more easily than the silence.

Her hand twitched to reach for the controls on the dashboard, but she hadn't decided yet...

"Sophia?" Trip finally asked, "So, what do we know about an angel named Sophia?"

So T'Pol stilled her hand.

He'd finished his reflective consideration of what she'd said, so they could talk again now. She didn't have to sit and ponder the difficult thing she had to do now any longer...

"Archangel." T'Pol said then, correcting him. "I haven't checked my database yet, but I believe she is supposedly dedicated to wisdom and maternal affection."

Trip looked away out the front windshield to ponder that. Long enough that she began to worry the unbearable silence might return.

"Well...I guess that kinda makes sense." He said. "Jahi's a succubus and she's a pretty damned twisted one, so...if any angel's going to go up against her, it would be an archangel. And I guess it'd be someone like Sophia. Makes me a little nervous that you've got her attention, but I guess the angel of wisdom isn't so bad. We could be dealing with the angel of...righteous wrath or something."

It was quiet again.

This conversation...T'Pol knew exactly where it was going to lead. She could almost _feel _the providence at work here, guiding what had been a casual exchange of information only a moment ago to a topic now that needed both to be covered very soon...and one she would have paid nearly price _not _to have happen...

She didn't want to discuss this with him. She didn't want to do what Sophia was asking her to do, certainly, but even bringing it up for discussion was proving too much for her.

Or, rather...she _did_, to be perfectly honest. She _did _want to do it. But it was no less terrifying for that, quite the opposite. It made it _more _so...

All of which served to finally force her to confront the fact that she was allowing fear to rule her here. And since that absolutely could not be allowed, she suppressed that immediately.

And prepared to broach the subject.

_Now_.

She even opened her mouth to do precisely that...

Trip spoke first, because she'd already missed the opportunity. Illustrating perfectly the inconvenience of fear.

"So she wants us to go to Wyoming and confront Jahi." Trip said, before she could speak. "All four of those succubi, in fact, since they're sure to be there. And probably a whole gang of other demons, now that I think about it, because you just know they're gonna throw a big party."

T'Pol nodded her agreement with that. "Yes, undoubtedly."

Trip rubbed his hand against his mouth anxiously.

"I would have said before...we're probably not coming back from this one, you know." He finally said. "We were just hoping we could take Jahi out before we..."

He let that point hang, unspoken.

She knew well enough, though. Before the other succubi got hold of them. Before they were killed or more likely and more specifically, tortured to death. In fact, very likely something unimaginably much worse even than that.

And having had that thought, being forced to acknowledge that so pointedly, she was silenced by it. And so Trip again spoke before she could redirect the conversation to the particular issue that needed to be addressed here.

"That's the thing." He said, thinking out loud. "We were already going to do this, but now we've got an angel...and _archangel_...actually _telling _us to."

"Asking us, Trip." T'Pol corrected. "That point was specifically emphasized. It may even be more accurate to say are indeed commanded, but our right...or perhaps merely our ability, to refuse...that was acknowledged in the message. The impression I received was that we are commanded, even while the option of refusing that command was recognized. The implication being that to refuse would prove regrettable in some manner..."

"Well, okay. Whatever. Point is, this is a good thing, right?" He said. "We were just going to end up pulling off something crazy here, but now we've got an archangel in our court. Or, sort of. So that has to be a good thing for us, right?"

"I can only assume so." T'Pol said. "Bearing in mind the motives and intentions of an archangel likely being inscrutable to some degree."

Trip frowned over that for a moment more.

Then sighed.

"Okay, then I guess we're left with it just not mattering, right?" He said. "We'll go do this and hope that the fact an archangel _wants _us to is a good thing. We're going after Jahi anyway, right?"

T'Pol nodded, despite not caring about that particular topic right now. She needed to take control of the conversation while she still could.

So she simply nodded and proceeded immediately to do so.

"That is not all I was asked to do." She said.

Before she could procrastinate again. And before he could say anything else.

Trip looked over at her then, pulled out of his musing and worrying to stare intently at her again.

"What else?" He asked.

She opened her mouth to say it clearly, so they could proceed directly to discussing the issue.

But then, surprisingly, she didn't do that.

"It involved you." She said, vaguely, instead of that.

"What about me?" He asked, instantly.

She fidgeted. Despite herself.

"What?" He pressed.

"Trip..." She said

And she knew the moment she said his name that she was still delaying the matter. She'd merely found an important, relevant point that needed to be established first.

Not because it needed to be established, but because it allowed for putting off the matter for a short while longer. It was justifiable and so she accepted that.

She was rationalizing. That's all there was to it.

So she sighed, because she was being inefficient and illogical, and that was beginning to discourage her a little.

"Trip." She said again. "I am being unusually honest with you now. That is why I have broached this subject. Under normal circumstances, I would not. I would instead seek some other way to comply with Sophia's request, without informing you of it, despite the fact that it directly involves you. I would do that because...this may come between us. It will undoubtedly tempt you to question your trust in me, at a time when you have little reason to trust me and we already have many only partially resolved issues..."

"T'Pol, why don't you just spit it out?" Trip asked, a little frustrated. "I get it. It's a tough subject, whatever it is. But we've already had a few of those in the last couple of days, so just spit it out and we'll deal with..."

"I was asked to bond with you." She said, suddenly. Practically blurting it out.

Trip stared at her.

And then he stared some more.

"What do you mean, 'bond'?" He asked.

"You are familiar with Vulcan bonds and the bonding process. It is a subject we have discussed in the past and you have read Vulcan educational materials concerning..."

"Yeah, I know what a bond is, it's just...what are you talking about?"

"Sophia has...requested that we bond."

Trip stared again.

"Okay, what _kind _of bond? Because there are a few different kinds, and not that many that you and I could actually..."

"A mating bond."

Trip just looked at her again, though much more obviously shocked now.

"That..." He said, uncertainly. "T'Pol that's...that's kind of asking a lot, isn't it?"

"Not necessarily." She rushed to explain. "A mate bond can be severed at a later time, though that is potentially dangerous and is not a course of action to be chosen lightly. It can also be caused to simply diminish and eventually fade, if it is not strengthened and encouraged. Although...that can often take months or years and could prove uncomfortable..."

"Okay, so you're talking about an actual _mate _bond."

"Yes."

"T'Pol..." He said, uncertainly. "Are you actually seriously suggesting we consider _doing _that?"

"Yes, of course."

He watched her for a while, working through his shock.

And she drove. Concentrating on remaining logical and detached about the matter. As much as she was able.

"T'Pol," He said, after a long moment. "Maybe...maybe I had a crazy crush on you when I was a kid and...well, maybe I still...but, look, okay, just...I don't know if that's a good _idea_."

"I imagine this is a difficult proposition for you to consider objectively." She said. "I can understand..."

"No, not really." He said. "I can very objectively determine there's no way we're prepared to make that kind of decision just out of the blue like this. I can't even wrap my head around it. Why...why would she want us to do that anyway? That's...kinda crazy, T'Pol."

"Trip, understand this." She said, firmly. "I trust you. If you believe that you can trust me, then I am confident we can consider this matter together and determine the most appropriate course of action. Should we chose to comply and form a mate bond, I am certain that we can trust one another with that."

"Okay, well...good, but...why does she want us to do that?"

"That was not explained to me."

He frowned at that.

And spoke again, with some measure of discomfort in his voice now.

"Look, I know you're very logical and all, but I have to ask..." He said. "Just tell me this isn't some kind of joke or something, because I really need to hear you say you're not joking or playing some kind of game here..."

"Trip, I am not joking. I am not playing any sort of game. I am very serious and I found this as surprising and uncomfortable as you do now."

"Well...okay, I guess."

Trip shifted in his seat anyway, suddenly frustrated.

"You know," He said, frowning. "Demons have a nasty habit of taking every opportunity to be sadistic. Even if they have some kind of plan or some specific thing they're trying to do, they go out of their way to hurt people in order to do it. I guess angels are the same damned way."

T'Pol found herself in immediate disagreement with that. At least with his having vocalized it in that manner.

"Trip, I do not think it is helpful to accuse an archangel of sadism at this time." She said. "Certainly not if we expect her to aid us. Or, rather, if _we _intend to aid _her_. Especially as she seems to have taken an interest in us."

"No, not sadism maybe." He said. "But it looks like they've got the same way of doing things. Going out of their way to...what, is this supposed to teach us a lesson or something? I'm sure it's well intended but it still kinda bugs me a little, especially since I can't figure what the hell she expects to accomplish with that."

"A lesson?" T'Pol asked, immediately curious at that assumption. "What lesson do you think Sophia could possibly intend here?"

"I guess the trust thing, like she told you." He said. "She's the angel of wisdom, right? And I think you were kinda joking but you told Rachel you were an enlightened agnostic, so...maybe she heard that and she's just taking the opportunity to mess with you. But, I mean...a mating bond, that's...you might as well ask us to jump off a cliff. That's a big deal, T'Pol. That's a leap of faith, if I ever heard one."

T'Pol pondered that for a moment. And all that it suggested.

"That brings up another matter, Trip." She said. "There has been little to no direct interaction with angels that I am aware of. A few hunters over the past two hundred years have recorded passing incidents, but that is all. We do not hunt them, we have had no cause to, so we know little about them..."

"Well, it stands to reason they're working for the Big Guy, right?" Trip shrugged. "I guess I'm kind of assuming that, but it makes sense to me. So if they are, then we can at least assume they _mean _well. Doesn't necessarily mean we'll _like _it, whatever it is."

"Trip, bear in mind that you harbor preconceptions on that point." She argued. "This is North America. The culture is still heavily influenced by long standing religious elements informing such things. But angels or similar beings are present throughout multiple cultures and histories. Every known sentient species is aware of them, to one degree or another. And they are not always presented as agents of a specific higher power or authority."

"But they're always the good guys." Trip pointed out. "And it's sure starting to look like it, isn't it? You don't get that feeling, the further we get into this? Like somebody's got a plan here?"

"I cannot say. We do not have enough information yet. We remain intolerably uninformed here."

"So why are the angels holding back then? Seems obvious to me they're giving everybody involved enough rope to hang themselves with. That makes it seem like somebody's got this whole thing organized. Which, now that I said that, that kinda worries me. Kinda suggests to me they're going to swoop in at the last minute and smite the hell out of _everybody_, doesn't it? Maybe I never read the whole bible but the parts I _have _read...that's what this sounds like."

T'Pol considered that.

"_That _is the impression you get from this?"

"Yeah, it sure is."

"That is a very disturbing thought." She worried.

Trip frowned.

"Right, so I can't help but feel like maybe we _ought _to make sure we're on the right side of this thing before we get in any further. But...a mating bond, though. That's...kinda asking a lot."

T'Pol fidgeted again, and frowned. And he noticed that.

"Alright, I know I'm being a little insensitive here." He said, assuringly. "So don't get me wrong, I don't mean it'd be some terrible thing being bonded with you, but...I mean, come on. That's asking a lot."

"Not necessarily," She argued again. "Consider that we merely being asked to develop a...more intimate relationship. That does not necessarily require a romantic relationship. It does not even require greater intimacy in fact, beyond the act of establishing the bond in the first place. The mate bond is initially very passive, Trip."

"Yeah, but it's a _mate _bond. That _is _a romantic relationship."

"You have engaged in such relationships before."

"Not with you." He argued. "And this a _permanent _relationship we're talking about..."

"Not necessarily permanent." She corrected. "Nor do I believe a change in our relationship is required..."

"Okay," Trip huffed, impatiently. "Let's put this in terms I understand, at least. Tell me if I'm getting this right. Sophia's basically asking us to detour off to Vegas and get married. You say that doesn't necessarily mean changing our relationship or being more intimate or whatever else. It's just a formality. Just a piece of paper, right? We can always get it annulled later. I'm assuming she didn't mean it _has _to be permanent, right? But it's _still _a big deal, T'Pol."

"Trip, that is not a very accurate analogy."

"Sure, okay. But I know enough about Vulcan bonds to know there _is _no good analogy. That's close enough, right? At least tell me I understand the basics here."

T'Pol considered that, frowning.

And...

"Yes, I suppose that is essentially correct." She said. "And let us keep this in proper perspective. As you said, the impression I received was that we were being asked to bond. Nothing further was specified or even hinted at, so I believe nothing further is required of us."

Trip frowned then. At her now, squinting suspiciously as well.

"You're trying to minimize this." He accused. "Why?"

"Trip, I am merely encouraging you to consider the matter objectively..."

"Okay what do you _really _think?" He asked. "And be _honest_."

"Trip, I intend to be honest with you from now on, even where that proves inconvenient. That lesson I have already learned."

Trip waited a bit. And, no, she wasn't proceeding with the honest thing very quickly. Or at all.

"Okay. So..?"

T'Pol took a breath. A big, long, deep one.

"Trip, it was my original intention to mate with you, when you came of age." She explained. "You already know this. But understand that is what I intended before I understood more fully what mating entailed. And how humans participate in such relationships especially. Then I changed my mind, realizing that I had been foolish, that it was an uninformed decision and that it could actually prove emotionally damaging to you. I was unaware of that initially, believing humans mated easily and casually, with little consequence or concern.

"I changed my mind, Trip," She emphasized. "I never pursued that, nor did you even give me the opportunity to, as you left when you became an adult. But because I cared for you and did not wish to develop an unhealthy relationship with you as I did with your father, I had already decided not to pursue that course. That said, despite that...I do not find what is asked of us now to be entirely disagreeable."

It was quiet over there, on the passenger side of the vehicle.

Very quiet. So...she eventually dared a glance.

And he was staring at her, shocked.

"Not for that reason, at least. That it might prove unhealthy." She explained, quickly. "I recognize that it is at least possible that such a relationship with you could prove to be unwise. Or that we are perhaps not capable of having a healthy romantic relationship. Nonetheless, I am willing at least to explore that possibility again now that we are both somewhat older and wiser. Taking significant time and care in doing so, of course. So do not misunderstand. I have no intention of jumping blindly into this, nor proceeding carelessly. A mating bond therefore does not present an intimidating prospect to me. If you are willing, then I am willing, under those conditions."

She glanced again.

He was still staring in shock, and only slightly less so now.

"T'Pol, what are you talking about?" He asked, confused. "Half of what you just said didn't make any sense to me."

"Trip, why are you surprised?" She asked. "You were already aware of this. I have even taken careful measures to test the boundaries of our current relationship..."

"I never even _imagined _that." He said. "I mean, you kinda hinted around back at STC that you might want to...I don't know, _flirt _or something, but I had to figure maybe I was just...I never thought in a million years you already decided..."

"Trip, I was very young and foolish. And you have already admitted you were aware of this. That Sammy revealed this to you, in Las Vegas."

He was confused now, she could see.

"Huh?" He blinked. "He never told me anything about...he just tried to kill me. He never said anything about you wanting to _date _me."

"Trip," She argued, somewhat irritated that he denied it. "You are already aware. I realize that you were very disturbed at the time, when you admitted this, but to continue to pretend..."

T'Pol stopped then, her eyes darting to the side, suddenly becoming aware of what she'd just done.

Realizing her impossible blunder.

And never mind logic and remaining objective. Never mind her newly recovered, if not _fully _recovered, self mastery...

Cold shock washed right through her anyway. Because that was a significant mistake she'd just made.

"You..." She suddenly stuttered. "That...was not you. That was V'Sher. I was mistaken, excuse me..."

"Wait, hold on." Trip said. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Trip, wait. I made a mistake..."

"You said you planned to mate with me when I came of age." Trip said, focusing in on that point. "That means you were thinking about it back when...wait, you were _planning _on it, back when I was a _kid_...?"

"Trip, I need to explain this to you..."

"Stop the bug."

"Trip, wait..."

"Stop the damned bug, T'Pol!"


	34. For the First Time Again

She stopped the bug.

There was no other logical choice here, as he was very obviously at the verge of suffering an emotional outburst. There would be no reasoning with him then and she was somewhat emotional herself now.

So she stopped, and she pulled over. Quickly, as it was readily apparent that he would leave the vehicle impulsively very soon, even if she had not come to a complete stop.

She watched him practically throw himself from the vehicle then, slamming the door lightly behind him.

He was gone. He'd left her there. Not far, only a couple of meters, but beyond the vehicle and out of her presence. Still visible but twice removed from her reach now, just that quickly and easily.

That left her cold. That realization, that sudden understanding, nearly caused her to lose her breath.

How unacceptable that was. How traumatic and...painful. Insecure, lost, desperate.

She felt all of those things now. Perhaps not overwhelmingly, but the emotions were there, just below the surface. And all that he'd done was simply stepped angrily out of the bug and out of her presence.

He'd been away for five years. Away and grown so much since then. Changed so much. And yet, still Trip.

And already, with just a few days to adjust to who he had become, already the prospect of truly losing him had become nearly devastating.

She'd always loved him. Always, his entire life. But even when she'd decided, in that cold and perfectly logical way that she had, to someday pursuing a romantic relationship with him, a mate bond...even that had been entirely detached from her affection for him.

So when exactly had _this _happened? When had she arrived in _this _place, where the prospect of losing him did not merely represent the loss of the last of her family relations? Even her last true friend? The last person she could truly confide in? All of those things were bad enough, but when had he become so deeply anchored in her that it threatened her _this _much?

This was...ridiculous. Utterly irrational.

T'Pol's shoulders slumped and she leaned back into the driver's seat.

Sitting there, staring out the front windshield while Trip paced and fumed outside the bug.

She sat and decided...it was all rather irrelevant.

It didn't seem to matter what she did anymore. No matter what course of action she decided upon, no matter how carefully she moved...it didn't seem to matter.

Everything simply proceeded to fall apart around her regardless.

She had apparently become irrelevant to her own life.

So...

"Very well, then." She said, quietly. "If you intend to destroy me...or whatever it is that you intend...then do so. Obviously there is nothing that I can do about it. Do what you will and get it over with. I accept whatever it is that you've decided for me, if only to have it done, so that I can proceed from there. And if you have decided truly to destroy me, then finish it now. I am prepared to end."

She took another deep breath and opened the driver's side door, stepping out to shut it behind her again. Walking around the front of the bug to come to the far side, where Trip stood glaring off into the distance.

And she folded her hands at her back, to wait patiently for the end of things.

It didn't take long. He was Human and emotionally expressive. Currently, he had many emotions that required expression.

"You know, T'Pol," He said, bitterly. "I've thought a few times since you picked up me up back at STC that it would have been better if I'd just called security and had you thrown out. Never got involved in all this...no, wait. Never got involved with _you_. But you know what sucks here? It probably wouldn't have mattered. If I had just had you thrown out, Jahi would have come around an hour later or something. It'd still suck to be me right now."

He looked over at her finally, frowning angrily.

"I have to wonder if it'd be worse, though. Jahi's starting to look pretty good."

T'Pol sighed at that.

And she didn't care if it was inappropriate to be so emotionally expressive at that moment. In fact...

"I don't care." She said, calmly. "I don't care anymore, Trip."

He just glared at her.

So she stared calmly back at him.

"I don't care anymore. I'm tired of this." She said. "I'm tired of having all my secrets taken away and thrown into the light for everyone to see. I'm tired of being ashamed. I'm tired of being afraid and I'm tired of you hating me. I'm tired of my life falling apart around me and being unable to do anything about it. So I don't care anymore."

"Well, I'm a little tired, too, T'Pol." He said, bitterly. "I'm tired of how every time you open your mouth something new pops out to rip my life apart. I'd ask if you have any more secrets to share, but I just know you do and I just know I'll probably end up drooling on the side of the highway if you were to just toss 'em all out there..."

"I don't." She said. "At least, none that I can think of. If you require it, then give me a moment. I'm sure I can come up with something else that you can despise me for."

Trip turned away, glaring back down the road behind them again.

"I don't _hate _you." He sighed. "I'm just...tired of not being able to have a normal relationship with you for five goddamned minutes without something..."

He stilled then.

And swelled, emotionally, she sensed.

Even until it burst from him. The very emotional outburst she'd expected.

_"Fuck!" _He yelled. Throwing his arms out viciously, as if the word itself required further emphasis.

Yelled back down the highway behind them, at least. Not at her or even in her general direction. Which she was sure she would appreciate, if she allowed herself to care for anything at the moment.

Curiously...she'd never heard him curse that way before. Mild obscenities now and then, but nothing especially profane.

That was a first. And of course, it was she that had provoked that of him. It had almost come to the point where she'd have been surprised if it had been any other way.

"You know, it's...we're not even doing anything _wrong!" _He said, suddenly. "It's just all this crap from the past...!"

He fumed for a moment.

"Why the hell can't we just...?" He demanded.

Reaching out with his hands, grasping at the thing he couldn't articulate.

"I mean, damn it, T'Pol! What the hell?!"

She hesitated, but that seemed to require a response...

"I don't know." She said, quietly.

"It's not fair." He insisted. "I mean...you know I love you...or, hell, maybe you don't. _I love you, T'Pol. _I really do. I could probably fall _in _love with you. But...there's just so much crap! And it keeps coming up! When the hell are we ever going to have something normal?"

"I don't know." She said. And sadly now. So perhaps she did care a little still.

Trip sighed, defeated.

And shrugged helplessly.

"I tried, T'Pol." He said. "I was objective about it all, I kept it all in perspective. I even understand most of it. I really don't hate you and I really do understand, as much as I can anyway. But it's just too much. It's like it just doesn't stop."

She understood that, at least. And it occurred to her than she had something to say there, too.

"I love you as well, Trip." She said. "And it is the same for me, even if most of these difficult things seem to spring from _my _past and _my _choices. It was very difficult to learn that you were infatuated with me as an adolescent. I find myself irrationally resentful of you for that. It caused my actions to harm you all the more, as if I were not capable of harming you enough on my own. To feel that way is not merely illogical, it may well be insane."

She took a breath, because she was suddenly on a roll here.

"And you took a Deltan lover. Because she reminded you of me. And not even of me, but of whatever fantasy image of me that you developed in the interim. So not even me. I could not even pretend that it was me that you desired that way or valued even that much.

"And you left me with your father, when even that relationship was failing. I have had nothing for many years now. I have been _alone_, Trip. You still do not understand...that is not natural for a Vulcan. We are _never _alone. There are always bonds to support us. I have had _nothing _for _years _now.

"You grieve the difficulty of one relationship among many. Perhaps I am important to you, but you have friends. You have had lovers and you will undoubtedly have more in the coming years. Eventually you will mate and find another family through her. Meanwhile, I grieve for the last relationship that I have. I grieve to lose it to nothing more but a small handful of uninformed choices I made when I was young, which have rippled forward through my life to destroy everything.

"What am I left with? To return to Vulcan and take a Vulcan mate. I have been too long here on Earth. It has changed me in ways I cannot even explain. I can never return home. Shall I find a _t'hy'la _here now? Find _another_ family? Should I take a mate _here _now? All of those things burden me beyond endurance, even the mere thought of them. Especially knowing that I _must _do that now. There is nothing else left to me. But how can I, after failing so completely already?"

She stopped there suddenly, and not because she had nothing more to say but because she remembered that it didn't matter. It was all irrelevant.

Trip was quiet for a time, having nothing to say to that.

And so was she. There didn't seem to be anything else to say. Nowhere for any of this to lead...

"Well, I give up." Trip said, firmly. "To hell with it. I quit."

T'Pol nodded a little, almost unaware that she did so. She could certainly understand that. She'd given up already herself.

Nothing seemed to matter. It didn't matter what she did...

"Doesn't seem to matter what the hell we do," Trip said. "It all just keeps falling apart."

"Yes." She said.

Trip sighed.

And T'Pol grieved. It was impossible. That much was clear.

So it was time to bow to the inevitable. To surrender to it. Allow it to happen as it would and let whatever agency moving upon her life to do with it as it willed. She was prepared to accept whatever happened now, even if that apparently meant the last of her life being stripped away.

She was left bare. Empty.

Not even caring any longer what came to replace that now. Most certainly it would be better than the complete and utter mess her life had become.

It was something of a relief to know she could fall no further. That there was no last remainder of her life that could be snatched from under her. There was no further movement from here than toward the positive. She had literally reached rock bottom. Her life destroyed and ripped away, as much as such a thing were possible at least.

Vulcan was gone. Her entire home world and all of her people. Charles was gone, Trip would leave now. She supposed even her life as a hunter would come to an end soon.

She hadn't even written anything recently. She could not imagine doing so, in fact. Even that small part of her life seemed to have died. What was left to inspire her? Nothing at all. That had become a joke. Just another foolish thing she could not return to.

So very well then. Very well and so be it.

Her life was over. All of it. It had been taken from her. And so be it.

She even looked forward somewhat to whatever awaited her now. It certainly couldn't be any worse.

So she closed her eyes then.

And she let go.

_Just let it end, _she thought. _Let it end, so that whatever will come may do so..._

"So, okay. Fine." Trip said. "Hypothetically...how would we even do this? It takes a whole year to develop a bond. We've got, what, a day or two? How are we supposed to pull _that _off?"

T'Pol actually slumped a little more. She hadn't even been aware she could feel more barren and empty.

But for Trip to speak now, demanding things of her...that actually seemed to push her deeper into this...

Wait.

_What?_

"What?" She asked, without at all meaning to.

"Hypothetically." Trip said.

She stared at him, confused. Still not quite able to reach back into her memory for what he'd just said...

"What did you just say?" She asked. "I was...distracted."

Trip snorted.

_Amused_.

She was almost offended at that. That anything of her might _amuse _him now...

"I said, how are we supposed to bond in just a day or two?" He repeated. "Doesn't it take a whole year usually?"

T'Pol sighed, wearily.

"What does it matter, Trip?"

He blinked at her, confused himself now.

"What are you...? We've only got _two days_, T'Pol. Maybe not even that long..."

"Two days for what?"

He frowned at her.

Then tilted his head a little, taking a closer look.

So she sighed again and looked away. There was nothing here to see, after all, so a critical assessment was not only wasted but even demanded the impossible of her, in that she _become _something.

"T'Pol." He said, to get her attention again.

But she didn't look at him. She only looked away, waiting for all the irrelevant things of her past life to finally end.

He didn't say anything else, thankfully.

Until he did.

"This has really got you screwed up, doesn't it?" He asked.

And of course it did. Enough that she couldn't even answer that.

She waited, caring for nothing. And even his apparent willingness to bond with her, as Sophia had requested, even that meant nothing to her. She didn't care, because that life had ended.

He was quiet, thinking. Staring at her while she ignored him, enough that she could sense it clearly, even if she didn't especially care.

He'd stop eventually and go away, to leave her alone...

"You know what my worst fear in the whole world used to be?" He asked.

She sighed.

What else could she do now?

"No." She said, because he apparently insisted on requiring things of her. Even now when she had nothing left.

"Jahi found it." He said. "When she was messing around in my head. The absolute worst possible thing I could ever imagine. Know what it was? That you'd hate me. In fact...not even hate me. That you'd know I had that horrible crush on you, when I was a kid. That I'd tell you about it or you'd find out...whatever. That you'd make me tell you all about it and drag me off to all your Vulcan friends, to tell _them _about it..."

"Trip, what are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the worst thing I could imagine when I was a kid." He said. "That was it. That you'd find out I was Human. Just a dumb Human kid who had a crush on you. That you wouldn't even find that flattering. That it'd disgust you and I'd suddenly be nothing more than another stupid, useless, emotional Human...you wouldn't even laugh at me. You were Vulcan, so you wouldn't even laugh. You'd just find me useless and meaningless."

T'Pol found herself trying to imagine that, despite that thing where she wasn't supposed to care anymore...

"Trip, that is completely irrational." She said.

Because whatever else, that needed to be said. Such an irrational thought could not be allowed to exist unchallenged.

"Well, yeah. I said it was my worst _fear_." He snorted. "Of course it's not going to be very rational."

"It is not rational at all." She insisted. "I would not find you useless or meaningless. I cared for you even then. I have always had great affection for you. I would have been moved all the more, although I can't say what foolish thing I would have decided to do about it. So, considering that, perhaps it is good that I was never aware."

"Right, okay." He said. "But, irrational fear aside, I know that. So why are you so convinced I'll hate you for some dumb things you did back then? And, hell, that thing about me...you didn't even _do _that. It was just something you were gonna do then changed your mind when you realized it was a bad idea. You never even came close to doing it."

"Trip, it illustrates how poorly I have managed my life on my own." She said. "Without the support I lost when I lost my family. That I should have sought support on Vulcan, rather than remaining here. That imagining I could manage my life here, among aliens, without making mistakes so unwise that they would impact the lives around me..."

"You're talking in the past tense." He said.

She considered that for a moment. And it did take her a moment to realize what he meant.

"Of course." She frowned. "I am speaking of mistakes I made..."

"Yeah, that's just it." Trip said. "Those aren't mistakes _you _made. Those are mistakes the person you _used _to be made. Just like I'm not the same dumb kid who had a crush on you way back then and had to deal with you and dad and all that crap. I'm a grown man now. That kid's gone, _years _back."

"Those mistakes impact my life _now."_

"They don't have to." Trip insisted. "You know what? That fear I just told you about? I just _told_ you about it, in case you missed that. I shouldn't have been able to do that, but I did. Wouldn't have been able to tell you even a few days ago. Know why I did now? Because I remembered you're not the same person I used to be so afraid of. And I'm not that same dumb kid anymore. The person _I _am today doesn't have to give a damn if the person _you _are today finds him useless. If you do, then fine. You can piss off. I love you but I'm not going to stick around if that's how you feel. I'll move the hell on."

"That is _not _how I feel."

"And I don't really give a damn what that dumb Vulcan girl did a decade back." Trip said. "You know why? Because I just now realized she's gone. She's gone, I'm here and _I _get to decide who I am. So, if you don't mind me asking this of you, why don't you stop _being _her and be who you are now? Frankly, I prefer the T'Pol you are today. You're pretty amazing. That other girl made a mess of every damned thing. And so did that dumb kid I used to be, come to think of it."

T'Pol frowned, trying to understand what he was talking about.

She..._almost _grasped the concept. But it was elusive and, more to the point, rather irrational, she was sure. Certainly it was illogical.

It _was _illogical, wasn't it?

"So I have this crazy idea." Trip said. "How about we stop living in the past and just be who we are. We've actually got some important things happening here in the present that we might want to focus on. I think it's way, _way _past time to put those people we used to be behind us. Just...let them go. They kinda suck anyway."

T'Pol frowned at that idea. And she was frowning quite a lot, she realized.

She should probably stop doing that. It was rather emotional.

"Do you think that is possible for us, Trip?"

"Well, I just did it. And if I can, _you _sure can. So just do it."

She thought it over.

A novel concept. Even though...now that she seriously considered it, perhaps it shouldn't be. Now that it had been presented to her, it seemed rather obvious.

Despite being so utterly _alien _a concept.

That rather spoke to a fundamental flaw in her thinking, she supposed. This should already have occurred to her. That it hadn't indicated significantly maladaptive...

"Hi, I'm Trip." He said, suddenly.

Extending his hand to her.

Expecting a handshake, apparently. So she blinked at that.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

"Starting over." He said. "I'm me. You're you. Let's introduce ourselves."

She considered that. And she considered the outstretched hand he offered her immediately thereafter.

And stated the obvious here.

"Trip, if I did not already know you, I would not shake your hand. That would be inappropriate."

"So we know each other already." He said, instantly. "We've just been really weirdly confusing each other with these very dumb people we used to know."

"Again, that would be irrational. If we already know one another..."

"So it's just a thought exercise. We're doing this to put things back the way they should be."

"Trip, it is illogical..."

"Wow, are you really going to logic the hell out of this, T'Pol? Really?"

She frowned. Again.

And reached to shake his hand.

"Hello." She said. "I am T'Pol, although you are already perfectly aware of that and my saying so is entirely unnecessary."

He shook her hand comfortably.

"Right back atcha." He grinned. "Glad to meet you again for the first time again."

She actually paused in the middle of the handshake.

Staring at him for a moment. To be sure he understood...

"Trip, I think that may be the most illogical thing I have ever heard you say."

He smirked. "Just wait a day or two. I'll top it."

"I almost find that disturbing."

"It's why you love me." He said, winking. "Now, do we have our heads screwed on straight again?"

"I...suppose..."

"Good." He nodded, confidently. "So how the heck are two people who just met again for the first time again supposed to bond in two days? I thought it took a year."

She frowned again.

Because he'd said that on purpose, just to tease her.

And that was the last time, she decided. Taking a moment to convict herself of that.

No more frowning. Not unless absolutely necessary and only when perfectly appropriate. And even then _without _emotion.

"I will explain." She said. "But if we are living in the present, then we should do that in the bug. On our way to Devil's Tower in Wyoming, rather than standing on the side of the highway..."

"Right, yeah, okay. We're kinda burning daylight, standing around self-actualizing. That's a good point."

"Of course." She said. "I'm sure you will find I have many good points, if you pay attention."

"Oh, I know." He smirked. "I can see a few of them from here."

He'd already turned away before she caught the extremely inappropriate implication...

"Excuse me?" She demanded, ready to correct _that _behavior immediately.

"Can't hear you." He called over his shoulder, already approaching the bug. "I'm over here in the present. You're way back there in the past."

That caused her a moment's uncertainty, unsure how to respond to that.

"Trip, that was only a moment ago..."

But he'd already opened the door and sat in the bug, closing the door before she could even finish the sentence.

Over there. In the bug. In the present.

She paused for a moment, to consider that. Watching him sit there, in the bug, in the present...waiting for her there. And she watched a little longer, because that seemed something she should be certain she fully understood, before moving to participate in it...

He lowered the window on his door, poking his head out to look around curiously.

"That's weird." He said, loudly. "I wonder where T'Pol went? She was just here a second ago. Here in the present..."

Well, now he was just being ridiculous.

So she frowned at that, until he spared her a sly glance and saw that. And grinned at her.

But the frown, it was perfectly appropriate.


	35. A Disposition of Souls

Bobby eventually reached the light at the end of the tunnel. It wasn't heaven, nor any kind of salvation really, if you got right down to it.

It was just Florida. And almost dusk for that matter.

He already knew before he reached the top and broke free into the world again that he wasn't being saved here. Wasn't being rescued in any real way. Just trading one very bad situation for another.

But he closed his eyes and wept again anyway, as dry and tearless as ever, feeling the sunlight on his face and the warm air on this skin.

Wept and wept bitterly. Angrily. Grabbing that with both hands and stowing it away, where it'd be available later. If he was reduced to a this for now, then fine. It'd pass and then someone would just have to pay for that.

He opened his eyes after a little while, when he remembered he was dying of thirst here. That he was hurting and someone had pulled him from his prison, someone with water...

The old guy was right there in front of him, right outside the cage, smirking in at him. Crouched down on this heels, just watching him cry pitifully.

He smiled at him when he caught his eye.

"Well, hallo, Bobby." He said, with a voice that didn't match the old man crouching there not one little bit.

This was a demon. He knew that right away. Never mind his recent familiarity with that over the past couple of weeks, he'd have figured it out anyway just from the way the guy looked and sounded.

And...the bloody orgy going on all around him. Literally bloody.

He spared that a short look for a moment, letting that tear his attention away from the old guy.

There must have been a dozen people scattered around the field around him, in and around the machinery sitting out here in the field that had been brought in to dig him up. A dozen people, mostly men...construction workers or something, he figured.

They were...doing some pretty disturbing things to one another. Most of it looked painful. And most of them looked like they didn't mind that a bit. The ones doing the painful, bloody, very disturbing things at least. The ones on the receiving end...most of them weren't especially happy about it, even if they did some like they might be into it in a weird way.

In fact, somehow finding the wherewithal to do a quick count, there were about a dozen guys all around him. Only two women he could see. And a lot of that stuff going on...

There was no way a dozen construction workers all just happened to be violently sadistic gay masochists. The odds of that were pretty astronomical. And never mind the odds that they'd all be throwing a violent S&M party right here, right now.

And there were already a couple of people just laying there, bloody and...not breathing anymore...

So, yeah. This was a demon. And probably a few of the others out there were demons, too...

Bobby looked back at the old guy again, finding him waiting patiently while he'd looked around.

"Yeah." The guy said. "Got a little bored waiting for you, Bobby. I'd invite you to the party, but...I get the feeling you're not really up for that right now..."

"Get me out." Bobby rasped.

Barely. Just barely managing even that.

He was so tired. And thirsty. And he didn't give a crap about some goddamned party...

"Yes, you certainly look a mess." The guy said. "And who put you in that cage, Bobby? Why, that was just a mean thing to do..."

"Your cage!" Bobby accused, trembling a little with the effort that small bit of anger took. "You made it for me!"

"Oh, not for you, Bobby. Not really."

"Just get me out." He begged.

And that was almost the last bit of him. He almost had nothing left.

"This cage...no, that was just in case. In case we had to use one of the others. In case something happened to _you_, little Bobby."

"Just get me out." Bobby begged. "Please, get me..."

"You, though. I know you don't need that silly cage. Do you, Bobby?"

"No. No, please..."

"But what are you going to do for _me_, Bobby? If I let you out of there, what are you going to do for me?"

"Anything. Please, anything..."

"Because you're thirsty, aren't you? Oh, you're so, so thirsty..."

"Yes." Bobby whispered, crying again already. "Yes, please stop..."

"Now, don't you cry, Bobby." The old man said, suddenly soothing. "You're a little dehydrated, you know. Not a good idea, I think."

Bobby just sobbed. Lightly, having no more strength left than that. He couldn't even beg anymore.

"There, there, Bobby." The old man said. "I'll help you. Of course I'll help you."

He gestured at the cage.

That was all, just a wave of the hand.

The door popped right open, swinging out to the side like it was just no big deal at all.

Bobby slumped over...and that's all he could do. To his dull horror, he couldn't even move anymore. He was too tired, too thirsty, too overwhelmed with it all...he couldn't even get out of the damned cage now...

"It's alright, little Bobby." The man said. "You just hang in there now. You're just dying of thirst, that's all. Just a little almost dead from dehydration. And I've got just the thing for that."

He had a blade in his hand suddenly, Bobby saw. And he thought for one fleeting, startled moment that maybe the old bastard was just going to put him out of his misery...

Which would probably be fine. But, no. He knew what was coming now.

And, oh yes. He knew what was coming. And he was absolutely, perfectly fine with that.

The old man started humming to himself, like he was suddenly in just the nicest mood. And he cut is own wrist. Then started singing lightly, to the tune he'd been humming.

_"...lord a'might, if feel my temperature risin'..."_

Just a flick of the blade, like it was nothing. Just..._'flick' _and the blood was running free.

_"...higher, higher. It's burnin' through to my soul..."_

And it looked so damned good. He wanted it. So much.

_"...girl, girl, girl...you gonna set me on fire..."_

The old man just reached in...with his _other _hand, to Bobby's dismay. Reached in and just tugged him a little. And down he went right onto his face. He didn't even have the strength left to _not _fall face first into the hard, iron floor of the cage.

_"...my brain is flaming...I don't know which way to go..."_

Rolling him over with another little nudge...until the blood dripped down...

_"Your kisses lift me higher..."_

Right next to his face.

And Bobby whimpered. Because he couldn't _reach _it...

_"...like the sweet song of a choir..."_

Couldn't reach it. Couldn't _reach _it!

_"You light my morning sky..."_

Then the old man finally took pity. Or maybe just tired of teasing him like that. He finally let the blood drip down where he could catch it on his swollen, dry old sausage tongue.

_"With burnin' love..."_

Bobby tasted and swallowed and drank. Took it in, letting it set his veins on fire and burn through mind. Deeper, down deep where the last of him lay hidden behind it all. Taking it in, letting it burn the weakness and pain and fear away.

Just filling him with power and fury.

"Oh, you like that, don't you, Bobby?" The old man smirked. "That's it, baby. You just drink it right down there. We're gonna have some _fun_, you and me, Bobby boy."

He spared the vaguest glance, just a quick peek through the barest slit in his eyes, lost in the taste and the power already.

The old man looked down at him, smirking. And not the old man at all, but whatever or whoever was in there now. Whoever's eyes those were, shining down on him, green with fire and wicked passion.

Bobby didn't care. Not the first little bit. He was just fine with that.

* * *

They drove on through the evening and into the night, passing back through Las Vegas again and making Santa Fe in just a couple of hours.

And they talked. Mostly about bonding.

"We already find one another attractive in that manner." T'Pol was saying. "And we have known one another intimately for many years. Decades, in a way. It can take up to a year to form such a bond because it can take up to a year for two otherwise compatible people to develop that measure of intimacy and trust. Certainly for two Vulcans to do so. You and I already enjoy these things and are at least quite capable of embracing them more fully as well. All the fundamental precursors for a mating bond are already in place. They have been for many years. We need only accept it and allow it to...simply happen."

T'Pol was on a roll again, touching on a subject that, secretly or not, she found very fascinating.

She knew everything there was to know about bonding. About mating. About everything related to that entire general subject. She could go on for hours about it, quite contentedly.

Except she'd realized then that Trip had stopped asking questions.

And interrupting her.

And..._fidgeting_.

So she glanced over at him. And he was staring at her.

"It still requires the mutual desire for greater intimacy from both of us." She explained, assuming he must be confused. "We must both enter into the process with the intent to seek and form a bond, as well as a sense of openness and a willingness to yield to it when it begins to grow. To allow it to grow and to encourage it to do so. At least if we are to form such a bond without delay."

He was apparently still confused.

Or shocked. She couldn't quite tell which.

"It helps to anthropomorphize it." She said, to help him understand. "To see it as independently aware, even sentient to a degree. And it is, in a sense, being a product of both our subconscious minds working together to form it. So we must work together to call it into being, then present ourselves, both of us together, as fertile ground in which it can grow. I am confident that we are capable of this."

He wasn't staring at her anymore, he was looking out the window now, but he was still somewhat shocked. Trying to cover that reaction now, but nonetheless.

She didn't allow herself to frown, but she did find that somewhat perturbing.

"What?" She asked. "I don't understand what you are having difficulty comprehending. If there is something..."

"No, it's just..." He dithered. "It's...kind of bombshell you just dropped on me."

That didn't make any sense. There wasn't anything he didn't already know or at least guess at. Certainly nothing that would qualify as a 'bombshell'. Perhaps he'd never researched or studied the matter, but he was nevertheless aware enough.

"Trip, I realize you are not Vulcan, but you are already familiar with the general subject of the mating bond. How it is formed and the basic nature of it..."

"No, I mean the mutual attraction thing."

_Now _she frowned.

"You are obviously attracted to me." She argued. "You do not hide it very well at all. I have been aware of this since..."

"Yeah, but..._you _sure do." He said.

What? No, she...

_Oh. _Wait, yes, she did.

But, no..._what?_

"Trip, you are already aware that I find you attractive and that I am consistently tempted to greater intimacy with you."

"I'm...actually not, T'Pol." He said. "Or wasn't, I guess."

She looked over at him again. And, yes, he was sincere. And, yes, he was even surprised.

Her eyebrow rose to attention at that very interesting revelation.

"_That _is gratifying." She said, appreciatively. "I was unaware that I suppressed it that well."

"So...you find me attractive?" He asked, to be clear. "I mean, you're attracted to me?"

"Of course." She said. "I'm sure you are aware that most people are attracted to you. Why do you assume I would be any different in that regard? I know you much better than most others do. More than _anyone_, I would argue. So all the more."

He stared at her, considering that.

"Huh." He decided.

Which wasn't very helpful at all.

"Trip, it is the same for you." She pointed out. "I am attractive, by Human standards. And you also already know me very well. We already share a long standing relationship, one with a long history. We have been through quite a lot together. We understand and accept one another. Consequently, you find me very attractive, you trust me and you understand me. This is largely what I have been saying. We already have all that we need to form a mating bond. It merely requires that we simply do so."

He looked away again, staring out the window once more.

And T'Pol was tempted to frown again, because Humans took far too much time to embrace logic. So many emotions getting in the way. They required quite a lot of patience.

Maybe she could help.

"Trip, I think it is clear that we should bond." She said, confidently. "It is the logical thing to do."

"Okay, sure, but...that actually makes it a lot more scary." He said, suddenly. "If we were just making a cold, rational decision to do this, that'd be one thing. But if we're actually attracted to one another...T'Pol, I don't know..."

"Trip, do not allow fear to rule you here." She suggested. "Again, I do not get the impression that we are asked to actually mate. To be mated. To remain mates permanently or even to behave as mates at all. Simply that we bond."

"But can we do one without the other? I'm starting to get the impression this could get out of control pretty easy. What if we bond and things get out of control? And what if it doesn't work out? That's kind of a big deal, T'Pol."

"Trip, this may prove difficult but it is hardly impossible. In fact, I think you are being unrealistic. We will simply allow the bond to form and not develop it further after that. Not allow it to fully mature and...'set', so to speak. It will be far easier and less traumatic to end the bond later, if we still intend to do that. We will not be swept away by emotion, as you seem to fear we will. I think even you will not be."

"So...look, let's be clear here. You don't want to mate, right? You're not talking about actually _mating?"_

She gave him the eyebrow for that. Because it seemed obvious what he might be referring to with the use of 'mating' there. He was _Human_, after all...

"In the Vulcan sense of the word." He rushed to explain. "Having that kind of relationship, I mean."

"As I said, I am open to exploring that possibility. In time. _Over _time."

"Okay."

"With significant care and premeditation."

"Alright."

"Over many months or years."

"Okay, I get it." He said, chuckling now. "So we can do this without necessarily...doing _that_."

She frowned. Appropriately.

"You know what I mean." He said.

"Yes." She admitted. "But I should be clear on that point, now that it has come up. The key to ensuring we are able to most comfortably allow the bond to atrophy on its own would be _not _to follow the natural impulse after it is in place."

Trip's eyes narrowed, trying to read between the lines there.

"What impulse?"

T'Pol hesitated. Of course.

It was appropriate to be hesitant here...

"Seeking greater intimacy." She said.

Vaguely.

"Are...you being Vulcan when you say 'intimacy'? Like, _talking _about things and holding hands? Cuddling on the couch? That kind of intimacy? Or are you talking about...?"

"I mean sexual intercourse."

"Okay, right." He said, quickly.

"That can be expected to present itself as an impulse once the bond is in place and has been acknowledged. It is the primary method by which most mating bonds seek to solidify the relationship which brought it into being..."

"Alright, just...okay."

T'Pol remained silent for a moment, giving him time to adjust to that. He was Human, after all. And male as well, come to think of it. So that would probably require more than a mere moment...

"So...we form a mating bond." He said. "Then we _don't _act like mates after that, because that'd just make the bond...what, stronger? And we don't...get carried away either, for the same reason. Okay, I get all that. But what _do _we do then? After we bond, I mean."

T'Pol considered that.

And shrugged.

"Nothing." She said. "If all that is required is that we bond, then we need do nothing beyond that."

"No, I mean...how do we act toward one another? I'm not really sure..."

"Trip, if you would remain objective about this, you would see that it changes nothing. Again, as we have both already acknowledged, this does not represent any actual or necessary change in our relationship."

Trip frowned.

"So just form the bond and that's it, right? Nothing changes."

"I see no need for anything to change."

He frowned some more.

And thought some more.

Taking a very Human amount of time embracing the very obvious logic, of course. So she would simply have to be patient...

"Okay." He said. "So let's do this. And...wait, _what _do we do, exactly? I just realized I'm not actually sure. The way I always understood it, you're supposed to move in together and touch a lot..."

"Trip? You are already convinced?" She asked, surprised. "That easily?"

"Yeah," He shrugged. "Like we said, we better be on the right side of this before we go into this thing. If this is what Sophia wants...or, _whoever_...then we should do it. I assume there's a real good reason she's asking us to do something _this _crazy. Besides, I've got to admit, I'm pretty curious what this bonding thing is all about. You guys make a pretty big deal out of it."

That surprised her even more.

"You...would find that interesting?"

"Uh, _yeah_." He said. As if that should have been obvious.

She quirked an eyebrow at him for that, and even nodded slightly as well.

"I am curious myself." She admitted.

To which _he_, ironically enough, cocked an eyebrow at _her_.

"I have never been bonded either." She reminded him.

"Oh." He said, apparently having forgotten that.

Trip took a deep breath, preparing himself.

"Okay, so what do we do? What's involved?"

"Very little, initially." She said. "In our specific case, it should be very easy to instigate. The barest groundwork can be laid immediately, but we will have to build on that over the next few hours, at the least, until the bond is developed to a state that it can accurately be _called _a bond. Nevertheless, the most technical state of bonding can be achieved right away."

"Are you sure?" Trip frowned. "I always got the impression it was real hard."

"Very difficult for two Vulcans, Trip." She said. "Vulcans who are not already closely affiliated, with a trusting and intimate relationship not already in place..."

"Well, alright, if you say so. So what do we do?"

T'Pol considered him for a moment. Assessing him, verifying...

Then let go of the wheel of the cargo bug, reaching to tap the autopilot.

And sat back in her seat, hands folded comfortably in her lap.

"You are certain you agree with this?" She said, intently. "You are prepared to trust me with this?"

"Yeah, I trust you. Of course I do."

She nodded.

And reached over to him with one hand. Touching, to his great surprise, his _face_.

He should have expected that. It should have been obvious. But T'Pol actually touching someone's _face_...on _purpose_...well, no, maybe expecting that was completely impossible, come to think of it.

Vulcans just did not do that. At all. Ever.

Period.

She touched his _face_.

And...he felt something. Something warm that flowed down through the nerve endings along his jaw and cheek and forehead...down and down...until it brushed, ever so lightly, across...

Him. He, himself, deep down in there where he lived. Right where Sammy had snatched his claws into him.

His katra, apparently. His soul, which was completely weird and kind of wonderful.

And then T'Pol just took her hand away and sat back in her seat again.

She was gone, just like that.

The whole thing took maybe three seconds. In fact, maybe _two_...

"Wha...?" He said, only _now _able to be shocked. "Did you...?"

She waited a beat, to be sure he had actually failed to say whatever he was attempting to say.

"What?" T'Pol asked, curiously.

"Did you...just _bond _with me?"

"Yes, of course."

Trip stared, shocked.

"That quick?" He managed. "That was, what, three seconds?"

"An initial bond." T'Pol said. "It cannot be accurately said we are _bonded _now precisely, as it must develop at least to the point that a third party is able to detect it. Traditionally a priest must bear witness..."

"T'Pol!" Trip exclaimed. "You could have warned me!"

She blinked at that.

"Trip, you said you were prepared..."

"Yeah, but...there's prepared and then there's _prepared_."

Her brow furrowed.

She even frowned at him.

"You are being illogical."

Trip stared.

"You said you were prepared." She reminded him.

He frowned.

"You also said that you trusted me..."

"Okay, fine." He grumped.

"Trip, I was very clear..."

"Okay." He said. "Just forget it. It's fine."

T'Pol eyed him dubiously.

"You do not appear to be 'fine' with it."

"I am." He insisted. "It just...wasn't what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"Well, I expected some kind of _big deal_."

"I already explained that it would be a relatively simple matter." She reminded him. "But our next session will be more involved. Our third will more closely approximate the 'big deal' you were expecting."

Trip eyed her narrowly.

"The bond is in place." She said. "We will allow our minds an hour or two to adjust. It is very unlikely that it will be rejected, but we must allow for that possibility or risk significant discomfort later."

"Okay..." Trip said, uncertainly.

"In an hour or two, we will touch." She continued. "Perhaps holding hands, as you suggested. The intent being to allow the bond a clear and open avenue between us. If you and I are as compatible as I believe we are, it will become obvious when the bond has reached the appropriate point. We should be able to detect one another's emotional states relatively quickly."

"And then what?"

"The third and final phase. We will...allow our _katra _to touch and explore one another..."

"Okay, _that _sounds more like what I was expecting."

"Yes." She nodded. "That will certainly constitute a 'big deal'."

Trip nodded at that.

Because, right. That was more like...

...

Wait, what?


	36. Moving Forward, Closing In

**Cargill Salt Terminal**  
**Tampa, Florida**  
**April 19, 2144**

Malcolm already had his armor zipped up tight. A full torso, thin polyalloy weave set within a black leather overcoat, waist length. Collar folded into place, earcomm already set to a squad-wide channel, short arm particle beam rifle cinched at his chest.

He took only a moment to toss each booted foot up on the passenger seat of the van when he exited, rechecking and fastening the straps, to be sure they were snug. And as much as to give the rest of the team time to pour out of the van and move to the rear, where Victor King passed their gear out to them.

A quick tug to loosen the blade at his waist, a flick to unlatch the restraining band of his hostler, freeing the Peacekeeper pulse pistol there, and he moved to the rear of the van. Coming along behind the squad to watch until they'd received munitions and were busy putting everything in place, making themselves ready, looking to him for instruction.

The dull roar of a half dozen hydrogen burning motorcycles rose behind them, Dusty and his 'berserkers' finally coming along down the highway to join them. Just late enough to remind everyone they were here because they wanted to be, not because Reed would have tossed them all in a zero gravity well for a week or two if they didn't. Certainly nothing like that.

He waited at least until the bikers parked and dismounted, moving casually to join the rest of them, before speaking. Mostly waiting for that in order to do so without having to compete with all the noise.

"This is going to go a bit differently than what we're all used to." He said, turning back to his own squad. "But I expect you'll all perform exceptionally, as always."

His squad said nothing, just standing ready and waiting.

But the bikers were a bit disgruntled at being conscripted as they'd been, so they took their time joining them. That gave Victor enough time to work up the nerve to say what they were all thinking.

"Sir, is working with these guys really necessary?" He asked.

It was respectfully worded and his tone was even, but Malcolm knew well enough he was more than a little put out by it all. They all were.

"It's not my decision, King." Malcolm said, facing the man. "But then it's not a bad decision. We're looking at no less than four high order demons here. Rosiers, at least, of the fourth family. Succubi, so they don't quite fit directly into the chain of command, but they _are _powerful. And we can expect they'll attract a following if they linger anywhere for very long, as they have here."

"Just not really sure about relying on these people, sir." Victor said, stiffly.

Dusty had already arrived, more than a step or two ahead of his men. So he had an opinion of his own, naturally.

"Not real sure about you neither." He said. "We've took on a few demons before. How about you, son?"

"More than a few." Victor said right back, challenging the man.

"That's enough." Malcolm said, quietly, before things could even begin to escalate here.

And that was that. Victor stifled right away. So he turned to Dusty, nodding to the side at his team.

"This is my squad." He said. "My own personal fire team. We're not bringing anything more into this just yet, so we'll be relying on you and your men to do the heavy hitting today, understand?"

Dusty frowned, but nodded at that.

His men behind him, a half dozen extremely dubious looking sorts...they said nothing. Just standing, staring the government hit squad down. Long hair, hardened faces, biker leathers and boots...the whole supposedly intimidating bit.

"You've all been briefed on Dusty Jones here." Malcolm said, extending a hand to indicate the old, worn out man with the gray-haired pony tail and faded blue jeans. "These are his associates; Luke, Mason, Nathan, Cole, Grant and Preston."

Malcolm indicated each one in turn for his squad. By name, smoothly and easily. Which shifted a bit of the staring attention of those men to him, each a little surprised he not only knew their names but knew them well enough to just run them right off like that.

"My team," He said, shifting to them. "Victor King, fire team operator and coordinator."

Victor nodded sharply. Eyes hidden behind stereotypical thin sunglasses, of the sort practically issued to government agents, it would seem. His hair trimmed short, deep black skin and a general bearing and demeanor that somehow made it perfectly clear he was North American, born and raised, even before the slight Midwestern accent gave that away.

"Aliyah Nazeem." He said next, extending a hand to the bronze toned woman in body armor standing next to Victor. Staring back intently at the berserkers trying to stare _her _down. "Breach and demolitions. She also our seer."

Dusty opened his mouth the ask, but Aliyah didn't wait.

"Seer." She explained. "Clairvoyant."

_All _of the berserkers turned their attention on her now. None of them liking that one bit, it was easy to see.

She gave them a half smile, quirking up the corner of her mouth at them, but she didn't say anything more. Reed was already staring at her, _waiting _for her to, so he could break her off. She held her tongue then and just smirked. Just a little.

It was still a widely held belief among hunters that psychic abilities were a form of magic, and magic was just plain bad news. So she'd rather hoped someone would make an issue of having a clairvoyant on the team, so she could point out the irony of a _berserker _having objected to that.

"Rico Chavez, heavy weapons." Malcolm said next. _After _pulling the warning glare he leveled on Aliyah away. And Rico at least wasn't staring coldly at anyone. He grinned in a relatively friendly manner and the bikers afforded him some small measure of respect right back.

Most likely due to the rather large plasma cannon he had strapped to his chest, Malcolm supposed. Perhaps sensing something of a kindred spirit, an unabashed preference for wholesale destruction.

"Felicity White," He said, introducing the last of his team. Another North American, tall, athletic and blond. "Our sniper and spotter."

And she, finally, the berserkers didn't glare at, try to stare down or otherwise disapprove of. They all smiled at her. Outright leering in a couple of cases. Perhaps an appreciative once over here and there, just to be perfectly obvious about it...

She was admittedly rather attractive. And blonde.

Felicity cut her eyes over at Malcolm for a short moment, the communication there being perfectly clear.

_Seriously, sir?_

Malcolm smirked at that, but left it alone.

"Alright then." He said. "Overwatch has the mine and the gathering there located just over a hundred meters beyond these woods."

He half turned, to point in the proper direction, just off the highway where they all stood.

"We'll move through and take position along the tree line," He said. "Twenty meters from the excavation site. The plan is quite simple. We've tasked an old satellite missile defense system to project the first pentacle of Mercury right down around them. That's a weak trap for this situation, especially considering it's beamed from orbit, but that's what we want.

"The lower order demons, Jahi's little camp followers, they'll be trapped. Dusty and his men will deal with them. Jahi and the succubi...those are _our _targets. Their powers will be cut down somewhat, not overruled entirely, but they won't be able to reach outside the pentacle at all. The berserkers can expect to be tossed about a bit..."

"Can't touch us." Dusty argued. "Not while we're in full blood."

Malcolm gave him a dubious glance at that, but didn't argue.

"Alright, if you say so." He nodded. "All the better then. Your men take on the lesser demons, we'll take Jahi and her troupe. They're strong enough to leave the circle in spirit form, so we'll give them every reason to. Best case scenario, they evacuate their hosts to retreat incorporeally and we nab one or two before they get away. Worst case...we simply do enough damage to the hosts they're riding that they're _forced _to leave them. And we nab a couple of them regardless."

"You _want _'em to smoke out?" Dusty asked, doubtfully. "Figured you'd want to catch one or two for interrogation."

"Exactly the plan." Malcolm smirked. "We don't need them riding a host for that. Better if they aren't."

"How the hell are you gonna...?" Dusty argued.

But Victor cut him off. "Just leave that to us. Are you and your men going to be able to handle your part of this?"

Dusty snorted at him, almost incredulously.

"Son, I reckon you don't know who you're talking to." He said. "More'n likely, Jahi and them'll go on ahead and smoke out the second they see us comin'."

Victor frowned at that, turning his doubts on Malcolm.

Malcolm just shrugged lightly back at him, tilting his head a bit. So, yes, that apparently _wasn't _a completely ridiculous notion.

"Let's get into position." Malcolm said, getting things back on track quickly. "We'll set up, Aliyah will trance and mark targets for our team, then we'll call down the pentacle. Dusty and the berserkers move in, tangle with the lower order demons and keep the royals busy, then we'll pop water and start taking out the succubi. I doubt we'll capture Jahi today, but we're bound to get one of them. That's all we need for now."

"And the rest of them sluts run off to do the ritual anyway." Dusty frowned. "Don't see the point in this, if we ain't sending 'em all back to hell."

Victor frowned at that.

"We need to know where this ritual is taking place exactly." He said. "Where and when. _Then _we can make the call and hit them in force _there_."

"Ought to just do that _here_."

"Exorcising four high order succubi..." Malcolm said. "That's a bit of a tall order. We simply won't be granted the manpower and the authority something like that requires until we have one of these succubi in hand, and some confirmed intelligence from them as well. I'm certain we can get them out of their hosts and capture one or two, but that's about all we'll manage here today. That will have to be enough for now."

Dusty looked ready to argue so more, so Malcolm cut him.

"Mr. Jones," He said, trying to reason with him. "You have to understand how this works. The entire point of our organization is to keep the intervention of mortal governing authorities _out _of these matters. That is our job."

"You _work _for the gover'ment."

"Exactly right." He nodded. "They can't be involved and they're well aware of that. There is a certain line in the sand that cannot be crossed without forcing matters to escalate quickly and entirely out of control. There is a good reason you hunters have had to bear the brunt of this for the last thousand years or so. Our job is make sure it is not necessary for governing authorities to ever _have _to intervene. As it is now, they may well be forced to. We're here to minimize that as much as possible."

Victor jumped in then, bringing the issue to a point.

"We have to make sure that if we strike in force," He said. "That it's a quick, hard strike that settles this _fast_. So we can pull right back out again and pretend it never happened. You follow?"

Dusty grumbled a bit, but eventually shrugged and gestured irritably at the woods near to hand.

Whatever. He didn't want to work with government folk anyway.

Malcolm nodded, giving his team a quick assessment to confirm they were ready.

And he stepped aside, tilting his head sideways toward the wood, to send King on head of him. He and the rest of his team, while he followed behind, quite intentionally putting himself between his squad and the very disgruntled berserkers.

* * *

The second phase had gone just fine. It was actually pretty nice.

They'd held hands while she drove and they'd talked about things. Just casual conversation, reminiscing, that sort of thing.

Then after a while it got a little tougher. She insisted that had to talk about some _hard _things. Dig a little deeper, so the bond would have something to really chew on.

So they talked about Arkali. What it had been like for her and how traumatic and humiliating it had been going through all that. Especially with the two people she valued most in the whole universe _both _being there to see her behaving so irrationally and violently...

Trip had talked about just how much it had freaked him out. He'd been nine years old, for crying out loud. He didn't even really remember the incident. So much time had past, and he'd been so young...he mostly just remembered _memories _of it. Memories of memories. It even became obvious really quick that a lot of what he 'remembered' was wrong. The whole thing had gotten so warped out of shape over the years, mostly because it had been so traumatic for him, too.

In the end it was a disturbing conversation but they got through it well enough. And as predicted, it brought them closer. The bond had indeed gotten right to work making that happen. Encouraging them to understanding, finding and sharing insights between the two of them...moving in some very subtle ways to make sure they each had access to one another's perspective on the issue and the motivation to seek and reach a common understanding.

It was frankly a little amazing.

He could absolutely see why Vulcans made such a big deal out of this thing. With the sort of tools the bond brought to the party, he couldn't imagine anything that a bonded couple couldn't work through, so long as they actually _wanted _to work through it.

That was the kicker, of course. Couples didn't always want to work through things. And the bond was centered entirely in T'Pol, since he wasn't Vulcan to begin with, so she'd definitely have to be willing to let it go to work.

But if she _did_, and _they _did, and they were _bonded_...

Yeah, pretty damned amazing. He could certainly see how that'd be handy.

Wasn't even an hour before he suddenly realized she'd gotten quiet. Then she reached over and hit the autopilot so she could tilt her head a little and focus on something...

He figured it out pretty quick. She was feeling what he was feeling. Which naturally prompted him to take a second look and...yeah, there she was. Just right there. He hadn't even noticed until then, it was so subtle.

She was Vulcan and she was highly...well, _insanely_ disciplined when it came to emotion, so he had some doubts he'd even sense anything. But on the other hand, she was _Vulcan_. So, just like she'd always said, her emotions were crazy powerful. Flat out super-charged. Everything she felt was just...over the top.

Irritated? No, she didn't get irritated when you teased her about her ears. She got _homicidal _and wanted to bash your face in about it.

Affectionate? No, not exactly. More like the sudden, otherwise overpowering impulse to grab you and _squeeze _you with all her Vulcan strength until your eyeballs literally _popped out _because you smiled about that thing that happened whenever.

Pleased? Again, no. _Nothing _merely 'pleased' her. Instead she was moved to cry and weep with joy at how she really appreciated the color of your shirt...

Yeah, Vulcans were _nuts_.

He'd always known that. She'd made it perfectly clear every single time the subject had come up, to be sure he understood why she took the whole Surak discipline and logic thing so seriously, but to actually _sense _it...that kinda threw him for a loop.

And that was the fully suppressed version of that. Just a vague peek at what lie way out there beyond all the rigid, very unforgiving discipline she was constantly cracking the whip with in there.

Seriously. _Damn_.

But, she, on the other hand...she was completely fascinated with _his _emotions. How unrestrained and utterly free they were by comparison. A characterization he immediately objected to, citing all the various ways he and every other Human did indeed exercise quite a lot of control over their impulses and even the emotions behind them...

Until she just cocked an eyebrow at him, and he had to admit that yeah, relative to her...he was a pretty wild and crazy guy.

The thing that really got him though...the thing that really struck home...

She was envious. A lot.

That was the first really strong impression he picked up. Followed immediately by her embarrassment that he'd picked up on that.

She envied Humans. To be so comparatively free emotionally, yet having such a shorter range of emotional power relative to Vulcans, so that it wasn't even _dangerous _to be emotional, again relatively speaking...she really envied that. Wanted it. Wished she had it.

He'd always suspected, and many things she'd said over the years reinforced it, but that was when it finally broke clearly upon his mind. That was when he finally, fully understood.

That's why she came to Earth. Why she'd stayed when she had every reason to return home. She was as free here as she possibly could be, in a way she could never be on Vulcan.

She _loved _it here. She _loved _Humans. Loved interacting with them, despite the million and one ways they got on her nerves just about constantly. Loved the emotional expressions and easy mutual comfort and humor and smiling and touching and _joy_...

And she didn't love logic.

That just about floored him.

She _hated _logic. But it was _necessary_.

Or maybe it would be more accurate to say she _did _love it and was glad she had it...she just really intensely hated that it _was _necessary.

She was more than a little conflicted on the issue really. She envied Humans and, when you got right down to it, wished _she _were Human. But on the other hand...Humans were kinda dumb. They were pretty illogical, too. Rarely rational.

Got on her nerves a lot.

So she was conflicted, yes, but she was hooked. And he understood finally just why she'd always insisted she could never go back to Vulcan.

"I never realized you were envious of my people." He said.

Except...

No, _he _hadn't said that. _She _had said that.

"Huh?" He said, confused.

She glanced over at him, where they were still holding hands.

"I never realized you were envious of..." She repeated.

"Yeah, sorry, I heard you." He said, trying to recover a bit. "I just...wait, _I am?"_

She gave him the eyebrow again. Because he was a being a dumb Human, apparently.

"I sense it quite clearly." She said. "You are envious and wish you were capable of the same self control and mental clarity."

Trip's eyes flickered, trying to see where _that's _what he felt...

And...

"Huh." He said, surprised at himself. "Yeah, I guess I am. I never really thought about it, but...yeah, I really _do _envy you guys. Although, now that I see _why _you're like that, maybe not so much. Looks like you have to use most of that just keeping things in check. I get tired just _thinking _about it."

T'Pol, to his utter astonishment, smirked slightly at that.

Internally, not on the outside. Of course.

"I can say the same." She said, lightly. "I never realized that your emotional range was so limited. Seeing that now, I wonder if it is worth the lack of discipline required to allow such limited emotionality free range. I do not think I would find the trade off worth it after all."

"I dunno." Trip argued. "We can have some pretty powerful emotions sometimes..."

"Not really."

"No, we really can. Like...look at the sun setting out there. See how beautiful that is? I _love _that. If I were allow myself to, I could really..."

"That is a very tame emotional response." T'Pol said, already sensing it. "You are not capable of fully appreciating it."

"No, T'Pol. I _really _love..."

Something flooded through his senses. Flowing through the hand he held in hers, up through his arm and into his mind...

And that sunset was suddenly the most amazingly, wonderfully, incredibly and impossibly beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his entire life.

He was struck dumb. His jaw dropped, eyes practically bugging out of his head.

Just completely lost in the wide open door to eternal paradise that lay before him, out there beyond the bug's windshield, where the clouds in the sky reflected the setting sun in a wash and wave of marvelous crimson and amber...

Then it was gone and...

Just another dumb sunset. Not...really all that interesting...

"Wow." He said, still staring.

Not at the sunset. Boring, stupid sunset out there. The sunset that had just been there a moment ago...which he almost couldn't even remember now...

"Holy crap." Trip said, staring over at her in amazement now. "How do you get anything _done _with stuff like _that _all over the place?"

He got the eyebrow again.

"Discipline." She said.

Because, duh, obviously. So, right. Of course. That had probably been a pretty Human sort of thing to say.

Then suddenly, out of nowhere, he got his mind truly blown.

He caught a quick, very clear impression...

She thought he was brilliant.

Very intelligent, amazingly insightful, capable of leaps of intuition and understanding that flatly astounded her...

He gawked at that, because it was more intense even than the sunset thing. And it sure didn't fit what he thought of himself. Maybe he was smarter than average in a lot of ways but he never seriously thought of himself like _that_.

She glanced over, sensing his reaction. Then did a full double take when she realized _what _he'd sensed. And her humor flowed through him then, as she laughed outrageously...if entirely internally...at how _that _had astounded him.

So while she laughed, deep down inside, at what a silly Human he was...he put his thinking cap on. Let some of that insight go to work.

She'd just affirmed that about him, so of course he _had _to now.

And he immediately sensed something that some deep part of him had already realized and had decided needed to be dealt with. Something it already knew precisely _how _to deal with. Long before any other conscious part of him did.

T'Pol was afraid.

Absolutely terrified.

She wanted to bond with him, recognized the logic of it, had fully accepted that and internalized it...

But it scared the hell out of her. Because she didn't believe that she could. She was afraid that she would fail. That she wasn't _capable _of bonding, to him or anyone else.

That she'd be alone for the rest of her life because of that.

A very large, very deeply suppressed part of her was convinced this situation would end with her being forced to confront the fact that she could never bond.

And why? What was it that was provoking this particular, deep seated fear right now?

The fact that he was rooting around in her emotions and perceptions at the moment. That he was _inside _her heart and her mind...and how that was _nothing _compared to what she would have to allow for that final phase coming up...

She couldn't do it.

He could see that already, even if she stubbornly refused to fully recognize it herself. She didn't _want _to recognize it because the whole thing was entirely logical, and so therefore she _should _be able to do it. Because she was Vulcan and it was logical. Therefore she could and she would.

But she couldn't.

She wouldn't be able to touch his _katra_. Or, more the point, allow him to touch hers.

She just flat couldn't do it.

Trip saw that, understood exactly what the problem was and knew intuitively what to do about it.

So he did.

"Okay," He said, confidently. "You're probably getting tired of doing this every time we try to drive somewhere, but...pull over for a minute. I want to show you something."


	37. Rational Faith and the Incredible Dusty

Malcolm moved into position when they neared the tree line, particle rifle shouldered. Pulled in firmly at the shoulder, cheek to the stock, left hand on the barrel grip, ready to fire and with perfect accuracy on any threat that presented itself. Nothing did and nothing would just yet, but it was standard procedure for a reason. You just never know.

He moved in, taking cover behind the tree near where Aliyah already crouched, hard at work, waiting there with her and the rest of the team while the berserkers came in behind to stand around. They not bothering to take cover or even attempt anything that could be called 'stealth'.

Working with civilians like this, especially such socially maladjusted sorts...maybe it wasn't the best idea in most cases, but if everything he'd been told about these 'berserkers' were even half right, this case should prove the rather remarkable exception.

He took position at the tree, weapon ready, and he waited along with the rest of them. Just a few moments, giving the universe time to recognize where they were and how much danger they were in, in case it wanted to throw some of that at them.

It seemed that it didn't just yet, so he lowered the weapon and crouched down next to Aliyah. Observing her as she worked, waiting until she was done so he could disseminate the information quickly, to make use of it immediately.

She stared ahead, out at nothing, face perfectly slack...her eyes even rolled back white in her head. Across her knees, a drafting PADD she'd fetched from her pack. The software there was already running, showing a satellite view of the target area and everyone there.

Aliyah's hand danced and twitched over the PADD while she tranced, moving with a mind of its own, jerking suddenly to tap one figure out of the mass and tremble its way over to select a tag from the side of the display. Back to hovering again, trembling and twitching, until another target was suddenly, spastically tapped at.

It took a minute, but she soon had all of them tagged. All the ones _they _cared about anyway. The berserkers would handle the rest.

Her eyes suddenly reappeared and she blinked slowly and deeply, off balance now and swaying enough that Malcolm had to reach and hold her up for a just a moment. A quick shake of her head to get things squared away in there, a few more quick taps at her PADD and it was done. All the information she'd collected already being sent securely to the team's individual tactical HUDs.

Aliyah flipped the PADD over, handing it to him and leaning slightly to put her back to him. He took it, flipped it over as well, sliding it snuggly into her pack again. On his feet then, he reached and slid his eyewear into place, tapping the side of the clear plastic eyewear to bring up the HUD.

Jahi was there, slightly to the right and no more than fifty meters away. Eisheth and Lelina just beyond her, Lamia closer to them and right. Two other demons Aliyah had picked up on, powerful enough for her to take note of, off to the far side. Nothing the berserkers couldn't handle, but worth tagging.

Altogether, perhaps two dozen demons and twice as many civilians, with another dozen or so scattered around here and there...already dead.

Tragic but no less so than what as about to happen now. Not too many of the civilians unfortunate enough to have gotten themselves caught up in this were likely to survive the assault.

Malcolm shouldered his weapon again and reconsidered that though. Taking into account what he could see on the HUD and from satellite view on Aliyah's PADD...what those demons were _doing _to those people, what they were doing to one another...perhaps what he was about to stir up here constituted an act of mercy.

He took a breath, expelling it harshly. Steeling himself.

And gave the order.

"Call it." He said, quietly.

Far down the line, Luther muttered something into his comm and they waited...no less than two seconds before the small, red light on their HUDs blinked, indicating the pentacle was already in place.

Malcolm raised his left hand, slightly above his shoulder, fingers extended and chopped forward twice, rapidly. Giving Dusty the signal.

Something harsh and very threatening stirred in the woods behind the line. Grunts and snarls, the sounds of something feral and impossibly _mad_ welling up back there...and the men howled.

Furious, filled with bloodlust and already sweeping past them, charging ahead across the open field toward the three large construction vehicles and the little bit of hellish horror that had broken loose beyond. Howling and growling, faces literally swollen and red, contorted with rage and murderous wrath.

Charging across the field recklessly, most of them already tearing their shirts away to reveal the Norse sigils tattooed across their torsos, front and back. Tearing them away in large part just to have _something _to rend and tear before they got their hands on the people ahead.

And that was the tragic part here. They were berserkers. They'd would literally rip _everyone _apart up there. Everyone and everything. Civilian victims, the demon possessed, inanimate objects...it didn't matter. If it got their attention, they would beat and break and destroy it.

Which was why he and his team held back for now.

* * *

Trip held his hands to her shoulders, standing behind her, guiding her and moving her into position. A gentle nudge and firm squeeze of her shoulders to communicate she was standing where and how he wanted her to.

Then he let go, leaving her standing there on the side of the road, to take a step back away from her.

"Okay," He said, "Now, look back here and see where I'm standing."

She turned her head, looking over her shoulder to see him there, only a step behind.

He nodded back at her.

"Now, look ahead again."

She turned her head forward again, losing sight of him. Staring back down the highway once more, with Trip behind her.

"You know where I am now." He said. "You can hear my voice and your hearing's sharp enough that you'll know if I try to sneak off or move away or something happens to me, right?"

"Yes." She affirmed.

"So you know right where I am. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere without you knowing that."

"Yes, that is correct." She said, clearly.

"Now...I want you to think about whether or not you trust me." He said. "Whether you getting hurt somehow is something I'd ever allow to happen, if I could help it. Are you thinking about that?"

T'Pol paused, long enough to think _that _strange thought.

"Yes, I am thinking about that."

"So, if you fell back from where you're standing now, do you think I'd catch you or let you fall?"

T'Pol paused again.

Because she had to _think _about that.

"I think you would catch me." She decided.

"You're right, I would. But I want you to _really _think about that. I want you to be absolutely certain about it. Be a complete Vulcan here, T'Pol, and critically analyze all the data, all your experience, every bit of relevant evidence you have on that question. Put that Vulcan mind of yours hard to work on that and pick it to pieces. I want a firm, perfectly logical conclusion here that you're absolutely certain about."

T'Pol hesitated, because that sounded like...

"Trip, are you going to require that I...?"

"That's not giving me a Vulcan assessment here, darlin'. I need you to give me a confident answer on this. If you fell back, could you trust me to catch you? Yes or no?"

She suppressed the urge to fidget. And to argue.

But she cleared her mind and focused on the question. Considering it with perfect clarity and without distraction. Objectively, analyzing all the relevant information she'd accumulated over the years, in regards to Trip.

"You would catch me." She decided. "At the least, you would make the attempt."

"You recognize there's a risk here, that I might _try _to catch you and fail. But how big a risk is that?"

"It is...minimal."

"That's right." Trip affirmed. "So all you need for it to be logical and rational to decide to fall back and trust that I'd catch you is...anything more than a minimal reason to. Right?"

"Yes," She said, quickly. "But there is no reason to do so. Without some motivation that is at least equivalent to the risk, the risk remains unacceptable."

"The motivation here is to determine if you can ever bond with me." Trip said, evenly. "Because if you can't do this, you can't bond. Not with me and maybe not with anyone."

T'Pol was silent at that.

She'd hardly missed the perfectly obvious point Trip had just made. It almost physically struck her as it was presented.

And...yes, he was correct, of course.

She couldn't do it.

She'd known that all along, illogically refusing to acknowledge that fact until now. Very irrationally allowing herself to ignore that critical flaw in all her plans here, hoping that it would simply disappear somehow if she failed to acknowledge it.

She hesitated, but...

"Trip...I don't think..."

But, no.

No, that wasn't accurate.

"Trip, I can't do this."

"I know, darlin'."

"I...see the logic." She said, uncomfortably. "But the risk is too great. It is interfering with my ability to _accept _the logic. I am unable to _act _on it."

"Because it's too dangerous." Trip said. "I know and I get that. But _this_, though...here the risk _isn't _too great. The worst that will happen is that you fall down."

"Yes."

"It's not even fear, is it? It's just plain old self-preservation instinct."

"I could suffer injury." She argued. "Falling in the manner that this sort of trust exercise requires risks significant injury. I could easily suffer head trauma..."

"Except you won't. Because I'll catch you."

"Yes, I know, but..."

"You _know _it, but you don't _believe _it. That's the problem. So you don't have anything to overrule that instinct with."

T'Pol considered that, examining the subtle difference there. And, yes, that seemed correct.

"Yes." She said. "I don't know how to overcome it. Logic should be sufficient..."

"Logic just informs you. You still have to accept it and believe." He said. "So Vulcan logic doesn't cut it here for you, that's all. What you need is _concrete _evidence. You need to have already fallen back and had me catch you, maybe a few times, so you can accept the logic here. If you fall, I'll catch you."

"That is not possible. The contradiction is obvious."

"So I'm going to teach you a Human trick." He said. "Something completely irrational and totally illogical. Even a little crazy. But it works. Okay?"

No, that was not okay.

She didn't want to learn anything like that. Certainly she didn't want to _do _anything like that. To actually exercise an illogical, irrational and insane Human technique that allowed her to overcome her instinct for self-preservation and throw herself to the ground, risking potential head trauma...?

No. Certainly not.

"Trip, no. I don't think..."

"If you can do this, you can bond."

Of course...

On the other hand, that was rather an important goal. One worthy of...almost any risk or price.

She was Vulcan. She _needed_ to be bonded. And she hadn't had that in far, far too long. A true family bond was beyond her reach now, with all immediate family gone. So she needed it. Perhaps...more than she needed to live, as illogical as that might seem.

That part Trip didn't know yet. That it wasn't all about simply doing the logical thing and complying with Sophia's request. She _needed_ it. And, honestly, _wanted_ it. Badly.

So, as ironic as it might be, embracing illogic here would be logical, if it achieved that goal.

"How?" She asked.

"I want you to repeat after me." He said, confidently. "Pay attention to yourself, _focus _on yourself, when you do it. I want you say, out loud, 'Trip will catch me.' Hear yourself say that and pay attention to what you _feel _when you say it."

"What I _feel?"_

"Tough, I know, but you've been on Earth a long time. I think you can do it just fine."

T'Pol frowned a little, brow tight.

That was an uncomfortable concept.

"So give it a shot." He said. "Go on. 'Trip will catch me'."

She paused, needing a moment to adjust to the strange behavior and thought exercise she was about to attempt. Then she drew a breath and did as he'd asked.

"Trip will catch me." She said.

"Now, when you said that, there was a part of you that _believed _it. You had to, just to put it into words and say it. Words have power, so pay attention to what you _feel _and what you _believe _when you say that. Say it again and focus on that, until you see what I'm talking about."

T'Pol thought back, considering what she 'felt' when she'd said that. And she could almost perceive what he might mean...

"Trip will catch me." She said, again.

And, yes, she _could _perceive it. Some small part of her had been perfectly convinced, fully believing it just as he'd said, if only long enough that she'd been able to speak the words and give voice to the concept.

"I see." She said. "How is this useful? Is there some way to capitalize on this effect?"

"Nothing fancy." Trip said. "You just have to grab that belief and hold onto it. Long enough to _believe _that if you fall back, I'll catch you. And then just do it."

She struggled with that for a moment and it was indeed every bit as illogical, irrational and frankly rather insane as he'd indicated.

But logical enough, from a certain perspective.

"Trip will catch me." She said again.

Reaching for the belief as it flittered through her, almost grasping it.

"Keep trying." Trip encouraged her, quietly. "As soon as you can grab that belief, you fall back. I'll be here and I _will _catch you."

She nodded.

"Trip will catch me." She said.

It flittered past, evading her attempt to seize it and hold it, even for a moment.

"Trip will catch me." She tried again.

And, to her mild surprise, she suddenly had it. Grasping and holding the belief for a just a split second longer than necessary to merely give voice to the idea.

And, impulsively, following his direction still, before she could make any actual decision...she fell back. Some part of her recognizing she had only that quick moment to take advantage of the opportunity...

He caught her.

Before she could even stiffen and flail to catch herself, the sudden realization of what a completely irrational thing she'd just done only just beginning to shockwave through her. He caught her before she could even react to herself.

He helped her back to her feet quickly, in time for that sudden, short wave of shock to have already subsided, leaving her trembling just a little at it. Her startled reaction and instinctive attempt to protect herself suddenly having nowhere to go, no longer being necessary, because he'd caught her.

"Okay," He said, smiling behind her. "Do it again."

She looked back at him, surprised and almost wide-eyed.

Because...was he serious? He couldn't be serious...

"That was _blind _faith." Trip explained. "Blind faith is illogical, irrational and crazy. But now you have _rational _faith. You have evidence you can rely on. So now you take the next step. Accept the evidence."

He had his hands out again, ready to catch her. Just a step behind her.

So she turned away, letting herself reel a little at what was asked of her here. And as well that she'd actually managed it. And...

Would manage it again, she realized. Because she had concrete evidence now.

"You are prepared?" She asked, over her shoulder. To be certain, in case he were distracted...

"I'm ready." He said, firmly. "I _will _catch you."

She squared her shoulders...and examined the evidence.

This was Trip. She trusted Trip. Trip cared for her and they empathized with one another. That she would suffer would cause him to suffer, so he viewed protecting her from danger and injury to be as important as protecting himself. Perhaps even more so. His instinct for self-preservation extended to her, just as much as hers extended to him.

And he'd already caught her once, in this very situation, only a moment ago. So the logic was clear and it was perfectly rational to expect he would catch her again now.

Moreover...she _believed _it. She was _able _to believe it.

So she steeled herself...and fell back.

He caught her. Again.

Of course.

* * *

Felicity leaned back from the tree, high up enough to have a clear view of the field ahead. The climbing strap holding her in place slung comfortably across her back, providing full support, while the tree limb directly in front of her gave her 10mm Gauss rifle a stable resting place of its own.

She had one eye down the powerful sight of the weapon, her eyewear dangling around her neck, while the HUD display that would normally be available there was thrown up in the sniper rifle's telescopic sight instead.

Jahi was right in her sights, her first target. From what they knew of her, she was pretty intimidating in her power, and a little crazy to boot. Popping her first was a no brainer. It just remained to see what kind of hell broke lose when she did.

Felicity was ready for that, as much as she could be. Hit Jahi first, then hit every one of the other high order demons she could before Jahi did whatever terrible thing she was going to do about that.

Because whatever it was, it was probably going to be very bad.

Felicity had her target, so she let her free eye open to take in the big picture down there while she waited.

And so she saw the berserkers charging across the field. She already _heard _them, that was pretty hard to miss, but _seeing _it was a whole other level of 'wow'.

You could almost _feel _the power raging through those guys down there. The ground almost looked like it screamed in terror and tried to run away before they could stomp on it. The air around them almost seeming to panic and dodge to the side so they could pass unhindered, lest they take their insane fury out on it somehow.

And the first one...she couldn't even tell which one that was, their bodies and faces were so twisted and swollen with rage...that one hit big the six-wheeled construction vehicle parked down there, covering their advance up to that point.

He literally hit it. Running right past it to come around to the other side, hauling back with one furious fist, taking advantage of the opportunity to express just a little bit of his rage on that first inanimate object that came within reach.

That little bit of rage almost knocking the whole truck right over. His fist slammed into the engine housing as he passed, throwing the huge twenty ton truck up off its wheels on that side. The side of the engine housing caving in like thin metal foil and the engine itself even slamming right on out through the other side.

From just one angry, passing, probably not even especially focused punch.

The truck reeled for a minute, like it was shocked at what had just happened to it...then fell noisily back onto all six wheels again. Just in time for the next two berserkers to reach it.

Both of them roaring and leaping _over _it.

An easy ten meters into the air, to sail over it, howling, and hit the ground on the far side, right in the middle of the massive demonic S&M party going on over there.

Felicity couldn't help but gawk at that a bit, even pulling her other eye off the scope for a second to confirm what she was seeing.

There'd been an old serial film that she used to watch with her grandfather when she was a little girl. He liked old films and series, so they watched a lot of those things together, whenever her mom would drop her off for gramps to baby-sit while she went off to work.

One in particular came to mind now. The one about the guy that was mutated by gamma radiation. He turned into this big green monster sometimes, when he got mad. The incredible something or other, she couldn't really remember. But she remembered the monster he turned into, how it was kinda scary and cool.

Had nothing on these guys. Not even close.

Just forget about it.

One of them down there had a civilian by the ankle, swinging them around like a weapon. Roaring and babbling madly, slamming a half dozen of the demon possessed around like they were rag dolls. Sending them flying, smashing them to the ground...even hauling back and sending one up and off into the air with one powerful swing and strike, to actually collide with the perimeter of the projected pentacle of Mercury a good twenty meters away.

Just that one guy, in maybe ten seconds, had a half dozen demons smoked out of their hosts, because their hosts weren't just _dead _but flat out too broken and torn and just plain destroyed to even be hosts anymore. They were just dead meat that even a demon couldn't do anything with.

By then the civilian that one berserker had been swinging around finally just fell apart. Fell to pieces, not just dead and gone, but broken to bloody bits. That last final swing practically disintegrated what was left of them.

So he roared and bounded over, to snatch up one of the demon possessed, and starting swinging _him_.

That was just one of the berserkers.

Another one had the engine from the truck in both hands, raising that over his head to smash down on people. Easily a three ton hunk of dense metal, as big as he was and certainly a lot more massive.

Just roar, raise, smash. Over and over. Leaving little mushy piles of red pulp in the dirt.

Before finally throwing that with enough insane force right at Jahi and the succubi gathered to her that even _they _didn't bother trying to knock it aside or catch it with their power. They actually _dodged _it instead.

That suggested a lot. It suggested that maybe Dusty Jones hadn't been kidding when he said their power couldn't overcome the berserkers. Otherwise Jahi would have snatched that big engine out of the air and thrown it right back at him.

But she'd dodged it instead.

That was pretty damned scary.

Likewise another of the berserkers actually physically grabbing demons and literally ripping them apart. Barehanded. Tearing them to pieces until they smoked out of the things that couldn't even been called corpses anymore. That guy roaring madly and snatching vainly, trying to catch the smoky demons and tear them to pieces too.

Only getting all the more impossibly outraged that he couldn't before finding another demon to tear and rip and break, to get even more insane at the incorporeal demon he couldn't catch and destroy.

And Dusty himself, identifiable only by the gray-haired ponytail, grabbing one demon, throwing him into the five ton truck nearby and punching _through _his chest, right into the vehicle's external fuel tank. That releasing a gout of liquid hydrogen that immediately burst out all over Dusty and the ground around him, sending up a cloud of quickly evaporating hydrogen...

...that one demon nearby, one of the two higher order demons that weren't succubi, immediately took advantage of. That one seemed to have some form of pyrokinetic power.

He was smart enough not to go hand to hand with any of the berserkers, but apparently not familiar enough with them to fully understand their invulnerability. Because he set the hydrogen off the moment Dusty was standing there raging and roaring right in the middle of it.

It exploded, flipping the truck over and sending it rolling right out of the pentacle, sending up a huge flaming mushroom cloud and a blast wave that destroyed the hosts of three more demons who were busy rushing at Dusty to take him on.

None of which had any effect on Dusty, other than setting his clothes completely on fire. He turned around, screaming maniacally and ran straight for the demon responsible for that.

Completely ignoring the blast after blast of pyrokinetic power being thrown into him, accomplishing nothing more than to leave him naked and inhumanly furious about it all. His hair wasn't even singed.

Dusty grabbed that one, raised him up high in the air and threw him to the ground, so hard Felicity could _hear _the bones break from where she perched in the tree.

Then he started stomping on him.

Finally Jahi screamed, furious herself, and Felicity snatched her attention back there again. Eye back to her scope quickly, to reacquire her target.

Jahi was furious. Her face contorted with outrage, even if nothing at all as horrifyingly as the berserkers. She pulled both arms back behind her, palms open...and shoved.

Screaming her fury at the berserkers and, apparently, even the demons in front of who were failing to do anything about how they were crashing the party.

Jahi's power slammed across the field in a wave. Felicity could _see_ it warp the very air, flashing forward and impacting everything in the field. Sending it all flying and tumbling until the demon possessed, even the smoky incorporeal demons themselves, were all shoved and smashed into the invisible walls of the pentacle.

The two or three still living civilians at least tumbling through the air beyond, out where they were finally safe from all the impossible power being thrown around in there. They and every single piece of bloody human meat left strewn about on the field.

Even the remains of the trucks were thrown over, to roll out beyond the perimeter.

The demons themselves all fell, there at the edge within, once Jahi's power crashed over them and dispersed against it. They fell in a long, slightly curved pile along the edge of the pentacle's boundary.

Not the berserkers, though.

They hadn't been moved a single inch.

And now the closest thing to them, that they could take out their rage on, was Jahi and her succubi. And she'd just got their attention in a big way.

They all roared, fists clenched at their sides, swollen muscles flexing grotesquely in their monstrous fury.

All of them at once, right at Jahi and her demon pals.

Jahi...

Took a hesitant step back at that...

And somewhere below and to her left, Felicity heard the _thump _she'd been waiting for.

A low thump and barely discernible whoosh, as Chavez sent the fifty gallon aerosol dispersal drum flying through the air, out over the field. Propelled by nothing more than a simple gravity plate and a high-tension snapline.

It sailed high into the air, out over the field, to explode with a strong enough concussive force that she felt it in her chest, even a hundred meters away. Strong enough that most of the liquid was dispersed over the entire field in aerosol form.

Spraying down over the knot of demons huddled up around Jahi like rain.

Like acid rain. Very, very bad acid rain. The sort that literally burned. Because that was holy water.

Even Jahi started screaming.


	38. No Deal

Across the field, within the confines of the satellite projected pentacle of Mercury, half a dozen berserkers raged and four succubi very wisely took a step back from that sight, reexamining the very disturbing position they suddenly found themselves in.

The air was practically filled with incorporeal demons. Long streams of thick, black smoke darting about in the air within the pentacle. All of them trying in vain to find some way out and accomplishing nothing more than to obscure the line of sight from Malcolm's team at the tree line beyond.

The last mists of the holy water aerosol bomb rained down over the area, burning the panicked, smoky forms of demons as they flittered through the air. Raining down on the four succubi, burning them enough that they howled and convulsed from it. Doing exactly what it was intended to do, panic and confuse the hell out of everyone.

All but Jahi, who grit the teeth of the mining company executive she rode. Grit her teeth and suffered the agony, keeping her furious attention on the berserkers raging on the other side of the field, preparing to charge.

Most of the lower demons were incorporeal now, with less than half a dozen still riding hosts having been knocked across the ground and into the pentacle near Malcolm's team, just now beginning to claw their way out of the pile of bodies they found themselves in. The berserkers were a split second from charging for Jahi and her group, while the succubi themselves hesitated, unsure how to react to what confronted them.

So now it was time to move in. The succubi were slightly shocked, perhaps even a little intimidated, but they weren't stupid. They'd snap out of it the second the berserkers took that first step toward them, then they'd remove those men as a threat.

The team needed to be in position to take advantage of that.

Malcolm had his particle rifle shouldered, cheek to the stock, ready. Reaching only to tap his glasses and switch over, so the roiling mass of smoky demons filling the air wouldn't block his sight any longer. Ordering his team to do the same.

"Combat sensors." He muttered, pausing only long enough for the rest of his team to switch as well. HUD displays in the glasses they wore dropping thermal signatures and electromagnetic auras into place, so the whipping and churning mass of smoky demons filling the air could be ignored.

"Move in."

They moved, quickly and quietly across the field to the relative cover of the trucks that had been thrown free of the madness ahead.

Felicity, still in her perch high above, waited patiently. Focused on Jahi, keeping her in her sights...

Until the first berserkers screamed madly and started to charge. The succubi tensing, preparing to respond to that. Then she flicked the ranger finder on her gauss rifle on, thumbing the button on the forward stock, sending the simple laser beam out to land right on Jahi's forehead.

She didn't even notice, being so focused on the berserkers threatening her.

That projected red dot on Jahi's forehead was instantly detected by the rifle's sensors, range to target calculated and the magnetic force necessary to send the projectile to its target, penetrating the skull without _exiting _again, quickly determined. All adjustments made and the rifle ready to fire, before Felicity could tense her trigger finger.

Felicity pulled the trigger and the rifle kicked, nothing but a quiet _snick _and a quick shove at her shoulder to indicate it had done so.

The bullet struck the head of Jahi's host a literal split second later, just as she was drawing back her hands again to lash out in fury at the berserkers.

Her head jerked and she stumbled, left to blink in sudden surprise at the new hole she had in her skull. There where a solid iridium bullet now occupied a central resting point in her host's brain. The first pentacle of Saturn, with all associated holy script pronouncing the eternal damnation of demonkind, microetched across on the bullet's surface.

Jahi forgot all about the holy water burning her. Forgot the berserkers just beginning to sprint her way as well.

She screamed in horror, slapping at her own host's skull, trying to dislodge the thing tormenting her in there. Clawing at herself, trying desperately to get the thing _out _of there without actually smashing through the skull and _touching _it...

Lamia and Lelina barely noticed and didn't care. They had berserkers coming to rip them apart, but they weren't quite smart enough to do what should have been obvious. They lashed out instead, still not quite accepting their power would accomplish little to nothing here.

Lamia sending another great wave of force across the field, ripping the grass free and tossing loose earth up in a cloud behind them...but not moving the berserkers or slowing them so much as a step. They shoved right through her power like it was nothing.

Lelina, surprisingly, displayed electrokinesis out of nowhere. Something the lore they had on her hadn't even hinted at. She blasted the entire line of berserkers coming for them a long, continuous electrostatic discharge grounded in the earth behind them. A literal bolt of lightning arcing across the field to destroy the men charging for her.

They barely twitched, still sprinting for them, howling madly and horribly.

It was Eisheth who got smart first, just as Reed had predicted. And Felicity was ready for her, already having switched targets there, tracking her as she stepped forward with vicious determination on her face. The succubi couldn't overcome the berserker's power directly, so they would be forced to do just as Reed had done. Simply pick them up off the ground. Give them nothing to exert their impossible strength against. No way to _move_.

But Eisheth, surprisingly, didn't do even that.

She stopped after only a single step, a step forward _toward _the berserkers, throwing up one hand at them, fingers snatched out like a claw.

And not so much at them but at the ground before them. Flipping that clawed hand up and flexing her entire arm, sending her power out.

The earth convulsed, even rippling out beyond the pentacle, even to the tree Felicity perched in, so that she lost her target for a moment as the world trembled around her. It took only a second for the stabilizers in the rifle to compensate, so she could reacquire her target...

It was already done by then, the earth cracking wide open before the berserkers. They sprinting forward at full speed, moving too fast and too insanely intent on _destroying _to even recognize the danger and react. Decide whether to jump over, go around, even to halt, much less actually manage anything of the sort before they ran right into the huge crack in the earth.

They were in and gone before Felicity's targeting laser found Eisheth's forehead again.

And she pulled the trigger. Because that was fine, and it was pretty much what the berserkers were there for in the first place. Taking the heat long enough for Reed's team to move in and take advantage of the distraction.

Eisheth's head jerked and she started screaming, right along with Jahi. Lamia and Lelina only now realizing something else was going on that they might want to take an interest in.

Malcolm was in position at the first truck, aiming over the cab with his particle rifle. Aliyah beside him, taking aim as well.

Chavez was already in the open, unnoticed by any of the succubi, despite the fact that he was firing massive gouts of plasma over the pile of bodies nearby, blasting the handful of lower order demons dithering there. They were caught by surprised as they stood there, uncertain what to do about the battle raging on the other side of the pentacle.

He vaporized almost all of them in only three shots, before the last demon realized some crazy Human was actually firing a high powered plasma cannon at him. He ran...but he had nowhere to go inside the pentacle but closer to the berserkers and everything going on there.

So he ran sideways, evading the fist-sized plasma bolts flying all around him, bringing him right in front of the other two he hadn't noticed.

Malcolm and Aliyah lit him up on the run, literally setting him ablaze as he ran in a panic past them. He fell quickly, his host's body too badly damaged to do anything more than fall down in a smoking heap, the demon bursting out almost immediately to join the whirling cloud of black smoke in the air around him.

Leaving Jahi and Eisheth screaming, slapping madly at their own heads. Lamia and Lelina looking around quickly, trying to figure out what was going on.

Both of them snatching their hateful glaring attention to Malcolm when he stepped out from the behind the truck on the other side of the pentacle's border. Particle rifle shouldered, aimed at them. Aliyah and Chavez moving to form up at his side as he moved in to the edge of the pentacle.

Both of the succubi recognizing very quickly what was happening here.

Human hunters, they thought at first. Some crazy band of Human hunters and berserkers come for them.

They stepped past that assumption immediately, though.

The berserkers, the pentacle projected from orbit that they now perceived, the uniforms these Humans wore and the advanced weaponry on display...

These were agents of some Human government. Come for them on that authority, as representatives of mortal rulers.

That changed everything, and that took a moment to adjust to.

Malcolm waited, smirking at them down the sights of his rifle. Aliyah and Chavez already at his side, aiming at them as well. All of them standing just outside the pentacle, beyond the reach of the succubi's power, at least directly.

Lamia and Lenina hesitated, staring back at them, eyes narrowed. Adjusting themselves to the new situation.

Behind them Jahi finally stopped screaming and clawing at her host's skull. She threw back the man's head and smoked out, vomiting into the air in a dark black coil of smoke, crimson flashing deep in the midst of it. Curling up into the air and down again, to snake along the ground.

Eisheth following suit a moment later, unable to bear the torment of the curse lodged in her host's mind either. She smoked out in a massive way, through the mouth, eyes and ears all at once, pouring up into the air to join the whirling storm of incorporeal demons panicking there.

* * *

Behind it all, crouched unseen behind the twisted remains of the cage that had held him before, Bobby Palmer waited. Still full with demon blood and the power it gave him, but smart enough to bide his time. Furious at it all and wanting nothing more than to lash out himself, twist and break something...

But he watched and waited, while demons and men strove against one another. Waiting for his moment to escape. The pentacle couldn't hold him and the government agents here had no power over him either. Their weapons posed a threat, but he had power of his own to wield.

So he waited, quietly. Hateful and bitter, but smart enough to pick his battles. Ready to run and abandon these succubi, if it looked like they wouldn't prevail here.

And that's exactly what it was starting to look like.

Jahi curled up in front of him before he knew it, pausing to relish his shock at her sudden appearance before she darted in at him. Into his mouth and into his eyes, seizing his body in an instant.

He fought, instinctively, but it availed him nothing. It was Jahi's tainted blood flowing through his veins so that made him the perfect vessel for her at the moment.

He convulsed and gasped desperately, struggling...but she had him in less than a second. Jerking his head back forward, seizing control of him.

And snatching her furious attention back to the confrontation waging near at hand.

* * *

Malcolm waited a moment, smirking at the succubi while they came to terms here.

The governing authorities had stepped in. They'd come to intervene in this matter themselves. What that suggested to the demons, Malcolm knew perfectly well.

They'd gone too far. Jahi had led them astray and they'd blindly, rather stupidly followed her in that. If the mortal authorities had been provoked to respond, then divine intervention would be coming right behind. Coming to take matters firmly in hand, because that could not be allowed.

There was a chain of command in place here, realms of authority firmly delineated that simply could not be breached. These matters were beyond the authority of mortal governments. If they intervened, that challenged the authority of the divine.

That required a response. Predictably, a very heavy handed response.

They were screwed, basically. They'd cut their own rope here, reaching far beyond the freedom granted them to grasp at things they shouldn't. They'd stirred things up too much and it was all about to spin out of control.

Right here and now, apparently.

Every force of authority in the universe, both mortal and divine, would be coming for them now. If these Humans crossed the line they stood upon at this very moment. If they, in the name of their nations, came against them now...

Malcolm watched as they considered that, pausing to confront the thing they should already have realized, had they not allowed themselves to be blinded to it. It just remained to see whether they would recognize the full gravity of the situation or continue to allow their wicked passions to blind them.

Lamia stepped forward first, snarling at Malcolm.

"You can't be here." She seethed. "You go too far."

Malcolm snorted at that.

"_You _go too far, Lamia." He said. "We're here and you know what that means."

"It means war!" She screamed. "Every demon of hell will come for your nations now! All of them! All the pitiful rulers of Earth...!"

"This is your chance." Malcolm said, calmly. "Submit now and we send you back to hell for a while. Stand and you'll have that war. Don't fool yourself, Lamia. Don't be stupid. You know what will happen if the nations come after you."

Lelina stepped forward then.

"You will all burn and die!" She snarled. "That is what will happen!"

"And that won't be allowed." Malcolm insisted. "We cross the line and the divines will come themselves. That won't go well for either of us."

Lamia laughed at that.

"Where are they, then?!" She challenged. "They don't care about you! They would be here already if they did!"

Malcolm frowned, shaking his head a little at that.

"I'm not here to argue." He said, firmly. "I'm not here to make a deal either. You submit or we tip the scales, right here and now."

Both the succubi sneered at that.

But they didn't say anything further. The point had been implied and they were suddenly confronted with it.

Jahi had perhaps led then too far and they'd followed all too eagerly.

They could rail and rant all they liked but matters may well have come to a head here. Mortal authorities had come to face them. That could easily lead to total war, all the way around. With everyone and everything being brought to bear over this.

Malcolm waited, aiming down his sights at them, hoping they'd make the very convenient decision and give up here.

Hoping they wouldn't see through the horrible bluff he was playing. Because they were right. The angels hadn't intervened so far and there was no sign they intended to. But demons were really only afraid of one thing, if you got right down to it.

Hell, The _real _hell. The lake of fire. They all knew quite well that it was coming, and they naturally denied it. Turned a blind eye to it. Ignored it. Didn't think about it.

And when it confronted them, it shook them to the core. In fact, most of the pentacles and wards and rituals that were so effective against them incorporated exactly that very confrontation with the damnation that awaited them all.

That was why Lamia and Lenina hesitated now, and why they trembled slightly. Because Malcolm insisted they'd gone too far, that they'd stirred the mortal authorities against them. And that this in turn would stir the angels to intervene.

And, perhaps...even the Most High...

"It's over, ladies." Malcolm said. "Give up, before it's too late."

Jahi didn't give them time to make the inevitable decision, though. She was there, riding Bobby, in a flash of emerald light. Slapping her hands down on both their shoulders, Lamia and Lenina, where she stood, suddenly appearing between them.

Smirking back at Malcolm.

"Oh, I don't think so." She grinned.

And they were gone.

Not even a flash or so much as a rustle of air. They were simply gone, disappeared, instantly.

Malcolm jerked in surprise, his eye coming away from the sights of his weapon to stare in astonishment. Aliyah even twitched, sending an accidental blast of plasma across the field, having been just that ready to open fire here.

Jahi had just teleported out of the pentacle. While riding a host. And she taken two others with her.

The pentacle of Mercury was a weak pentacle for a demon as powerful as her, true, but...that was impossible. She could have left the field incorporeally, but not with a host. Certainly not dragging two others along as well.

Utterly impossible...unless she was even more powerful than they'd assumed.

Malcolm's mind raced, catching up with the situation.

_They were gone, that was a fact. Impossible or not, get beyond that. Salvage the situation. Now!_

Eisheth had smoked out...

So she was still here.

He tapped the comm at his ear, practically fumbling for it.

"Close the beam!" He snapped.

And high above, in orbit around the Earth, the old outdated defense satellite shifted focus. The laser projection tightening in now.

The pentacle began to close, dragging the smoky forms of over two dozen demons before it, moving in on them. Forcing them to huddle up all the more, whirling even more madly, desperate for escape.

Except for one. That one hovering uncertainly as the pentacle passed over it, leaving it beyond, in the open. Eisheth, too powerful for the pentacle to contain in her current incorporeal form. And now, literally, cut out from the herd.

"King!" Malcolm ordered. "Eisheth!"

Out beyond the pentacle, across the field on the far side, Luther King rose up from where he crouched, bringing the shotgun he shouldered to bear. Lining up quickly with the target Reed had picked out for him and taking aim.

Just as Eisheth began to coil tighter, ready to dart off and away from the sudden threat she perceived.

Luther fired, sending the package on its way. Out through the air, to burst almost immediately. A small, thumb-sized round with a preceding blast of granulated salt cutting a path before it.

Striking the black cloud coiled in the air, forcing it to recoil just as the round flashed through at just a hundred meters per second. That small tubular round, fashioned from diamond and etched with powerful sigils lined in gold filament. Ridiculously expensive and prohibitively difficult to construct.

Very good at its job, though.

It flashed through Eisheth's smoky form, the sigils etched into the sides of the diamond tube flashing amber the instant it made contact. Flashing through, out into the air beyond and over the woods.

Dragging Eisheth with it, already sucking her into the small diamond canister as it went. Snatching her right out of the air to whip off after it, almost entirely sucked in before it even began to finally fall into the woods several hundred meters away.

Malcolm allowed himself a slight smirk as he watched _that _flash by through the air, before turning quickly to gesture at Aliyah. She was on the run instantly, dropping her short rifle to bounce at her chest while pulled the scanner from her belt.

Off and gone to track down the canister out there in the trees.

Malcolm chopped his hand twice at the closing pentacle, rifle already shouldered as he rushed to move in. Chavez at his side, plasma cannon ready, and Luther appearing from the woods on the far side to move in as well.

Arriving at the huge crevice in the earth that Eisheth had caused a few moments ago.

Peering in to find Dusty laying down there, completely naked, tattoos in full evidence. Laying there, weak and spent, atop a small pile of other naked or, at best, practically naked men. All of them too weak and worn to do much about all of that but frown about it.

Dusty glared up at him and Malcolm smirked back.

"Well," He said, looking down at that. "You lot look comfortable enough. Give us a moment."

He was out of sight and gone before Dusty could say anything about that, not that he had the strength to.

* * *

It took nearly two hours to the berserkers out of the hole in the ground, mostly because they were too weak even to stand on their own. Malcolm was forced to call in a local search and rescue team, throwing his weight around a bit to get that done without answering too many questions.

That had to wait of course, which didn't make the men down there very happy. The demons in the pentacle had to be dealt with first and Malcolm wasn't about to take the easy route there. He called in a consultant, through Division Ten itself. That took an hour before the priest finally arrived and he was a bit shocked at what awaited him.

He'd performed an easy score of exorcisms for the Division in the past, but...there were over two dozen demons in there, churning around in a storm of evil black smoke, inside in an infrared laser beam pentacle being projected from orbit...

It took him a few minutes to wrap his head around that before he could start digging about in his books for just the right ritual. And Agent Reed insisted on sending them all to hell, permanently if possible.

He settled for a thousand years, since the priest insisted that was the best he could do. There were two dozen of them, after all.

Aliyah recovered the diamond canister from the woods and returned with it by then. Chavez, White and King having cleared the area of all obvious forensic evidence that they'd been here. Satellite surveillance and every other passive recording of anything that had happened would be stepped on very subtly and efficiently by his Division Ten superiors as well.

By the time the demons went wailing back to hell and the priest departed, the search and rescue team arrived. They had Dusty and his men out of the crack in the earth as quickly as they could, Malcolm being forced to make a few not very well concealed threats to prevent them from calling local law enforcement.

They called them anyway, of course. The strange, impossible crack in the earth, a half dozen naked tattooed men trapped down there, piles of dead bodies...and _pieces _of bodies...extremely large vehicles tossed around and exploded, the two survivors they managed to find babbling about demons and hell...

Of course they made the call. But Malcolm and his team had already snatched the berserkers away from them and simply left by then. The fallout from that they left to the Division to handle.

The cargo hauler met them on the highway. A rigid, helium filled airship coming to rest right in the middle of the road the second the traffic was clear. Picking up the van itself and taking to the air again, floating off to the west like any other private company airship.

Malcolm exiting the van the moment they were parked in the cargo bay, even before the airship lifted off again. Making his way past the engineers coming to secure and check the vehicle, into the brightly lit, white-walled corridor at hand and beyond to the conference room there.

Wasting no time reporting to the men standing by the conference table, waiting for him, but throwing up a smirk and the diamond canister itself, letting that do the talking for him. They stepped aside, signaling ahead and sending the science types scurrying.

The door was opened for him and the path cleared, and he was in the interrogation chamber only a minute later. Two armed MACO officers at his heels, one wielding an automatic shotgun armed with cold iron buckshot rounds, the other with a weapon exactly like the one King had used before, firing rounds identical to the one Malcolm carried. Just in case.

Malcolm stepped right to the wall, activating the transparent metal viewing port there and slid the canister carefully into the slot at hand. The automatic mechanisms there seizing the round and pulling it in, sealing off the access port again with a small, iron plate itself covered with microetched sigils and wards.

Inside the interrogation chamber, the canister jutted out of the wall slightly, no more than a centimeter.

And began to whine slightly at the impossible pressure being brought to bear on the small tube, filled now with a tightly churning, smoky black mass.

The diamond canister eventually cracked...and that was all it took.

Eisheth exploded out into the chamber, a furious black snake of smoking rage, rebounding off the walls and whirling about the room, looking for escape.

Pausing for a short moment in midair suddenly, perceiving that she was being observed from beyond one of the walls. Drawing back and dashing forward the crash against the one-way viewing port where Malcolm stood watching.

Accomplishing nothing, not so much as forcing Malcolm back a step in surprise or in any way overcoming the invisible wards stamped on the very molecules of the walls around her.

Malcolm turned his head to watch as the science officer dart into the room, practically leaping for the console set in the wall. Tapping madly and poring over the data...before finally slumping in relief and turning to give him a nod and thumbs up.

He smirked back, nodding himself. It wasn't really a question and Carver was just being the nervous sort, but it was good to have confirmation at least.

Malcolm reached and tapped one of the buttons on the panel near him, set next to the viewing port. Pushing the button and letting it go again, watching through the view port intently as the walls inside lit up, bright and white.

Forty-two specific sigils on the walls, floor and ceiling, precisely seven each, arranged just so...all lit up in gold by the white light shining through the walls.

Eisheth's smoky form immediately recoiled, bunching up in the air in the center of the chamber. Then tightening up some more.

And then again, compressing herself down to nearly the size of a baseball.

He could almost _hear _her screaming in outrage and agony, desperately trying to get away from the painful, convicting signs all around her.

He tapped the button again and the walls went dim once more. Pristine and white, with no sign of what they'd just displayed. Waiting until Eisheth uncoiled hesitantly, after a tentative moment, to hover in a black, angry cloud in the middle of the chamber again.

Then he pressed the other button.

"I'll be back in ten minutes." He said. "Consider the situation while I'm gone. When I get back, I expect you'll have the location. Where and when that ritual is to be performed. And I hope for your sake it's not in the next ten minutes."

Eisheth immediately darted forward, spreading across the viewing port until it was covered in black. Moving across it for a moment...forming a word there with her own form.

_Deal._

Malcolm smirked.

And reached to tap the first button again. Leaving the lights on in there while Eisheth recoiled and roiled in agony once more in the center of the chamber.

Leaving it on and leaving the room. To return in ten minutes.

No deal.


End file.
